


full of that fire

by KelseyO



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: COOPERFELD, F/F, Gen, otp: boob handling 101, team amen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with Lauren accidentally hacking Amy's Netflix account and ends with her accidentally dying her hair pink.</p><p>Everything after that? Probably not so accidental.</p><p>(Five-part exploration of Lauren’s pills, her relationship with Amy, and what loving someone is really all about. Post-1x08. Uses "just like the rain" headcanon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> You know those times when all you want to do is write a simple little oneshot, and then your beta says "I'm really sorry to tell you this, but this story can only be multichapter," and then two weeks later you have 20,000+ new words on your computer? Yeah, me too.
> 
> Title from "Hurricane" by The Fray.
> 
> (Please please PLEASE read "just like the rain" first, if you haven't already.)

_she's so fierce and full of that fire_  
_what's a boy to do_  
_she yells and i crumble, she's got the power_  
_she's barely five foot two_

_._

She doesn’t mean to hack Amy’s Netflix account.

It’s not her fault the moron has her email address on her Facebook page, or that the password is “croquembouche,” of all things (though she has to give Amy credit for choosing something that 99.9% of the population would never guess), but once she’s in, and done rolling her eyes at the queue of social justice documentaries waiting to be watched, she decides she might as well stay.

She starts off with _New Girl_ , doing a few episodes a day to eat up the time she would’ve spent hanging out with Tommy, and even though Jess annoys the shit out of her, Lauren still appreciates her efforts to move on from her douchebag ex-boyfriend.

(Nick’s antics kind of make her wish she had a well-meaning idiot trying to cheer her up, but then she remembers the cheesy breakup mix that Amy left on her desk last week, and abruptly decides it’s time to take a break.)

She makes her way through a chain of obscure romantic comedies next, glaring at every single happy ending and yet still going right on to a new one, mostly because it’s a lot easier to be annoyed than sad and she’d rather grit her teeth than subject herself to a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

If Amy notices the additions to her viewing history she doesn’t say anything, but Lauren can’t help scrolling through to see what Amy’s been up to. There’s a few eighties classics, and scattered episodes of _Pretty Little Liars_ , but the most recent activity is _Glee_ , and she actually gags a little bit at her computer screen. As far as she knows it’s Hester High in musical form—thus, two of her least favorite things combined—and she’s completely unsurprised that Amy’s eating it up, what with her bleeding heart and recent “revelations”.

Her fingertip hovers over the mouse pad and she chews her bottom lip. She could watch a few minutes, just enough to confirm that the show is a complete waste of time… no one would notice, since it’s already in Amy’s account; it would be her little secret.

Just a few minutes.

.

She doesn’t mean to finish all four seasons in one weekend.

Everything about this show is utterly absurd, from the characters to the situations they’re in—especially this one character named Quinn, whose personality seems to change every time Lauren blinks—but she’s also a gorgeous blond girl who’s grossly underappreciated by everyone around her, and like… Lauren can kind of _relate_.

Granted, Santana’s one-liners are all chicken soup for her bullshit-intolerant soul, but there’s still something about Quinn that keeps Lauren up until three in the morning two nights in a row, her eyes glued to the screen as she watches this girl go from queen of her school to absolute social nothingness and then try to claw her way back up to the top.

By the time she hits season three she’s damn near fascinated, because Quinn shows up with pink hair and black clothes and enough venom in her eyes to shut people up just by looking at them. The whole thing is brilliant, really: change enough about yourself that you fit in with the outcasts, enough that everyone stops caring about your secrets and just lets you be.

Lauren spends a lot of meals thinking about that, and about how Shane would’ve told the whole school about her pills if Karma hadn’t actually been useful for once and interrupted with her speech, and about the bottle of pink hair dye in the bathroom, leftover from when Amy dressed up as Avril Lavigne for Halloween last year.

(She _will_ force someone to show her those pictures eventually.)

Now her nightly routine includes a ten-second peek into the cupboard just to look at the bottle. She looks at it while she brushes her teeth, too, but always makes sure to close the door before Amy walks in, because this new-found ( _vague_ ) curiosity is a lot harder to hide than her online viewing habits.

“I moved my tampons,” she snaps one night when Amy’s footsteps are particularly quiet and she looks up to find her reaching for a pack of floss, and all but slams the cupboard shut.

“Okay,” Amy says, her mind clearly elsewhere as works to pull what could be a full course meal from between her teeth.

Lauren glares into the mirror, putting an unnecessary amount of force into fixing her hair. “You’re a fucking skyscraper,” she growls, “and it’s not like I’m Elastigirl.” She sneaks a glance at Amy, who’s still focused on her own mouth. “It’s easier if my stuff is lower.”

Amy runs her tongue over her teeth, which for some reason makes Lauren’s blood boil a little. “I didn’t know you liked _The Incredibles_.”

“It was on TV after I got my tonsils out,” she retorts, “Fuck off,” then retreats back to her room and closes the door a bit harder than she means to. She catches her reflection in the mirror a few yards away and frowns at her pastel lavender tank top; it doesn’t match the anger rocketing through her veins, anger toward Tommy for being such a shallow asshole, toward Shane for being so callous when he doesn’t know shit about her… hell, even toward Karma for the crap she pulled with Amy, because _seriously_ …

She wrenches open her closet doors and digs through the dresses and blouses until she finds a black Longhorns t-shirt her dad bought her a while ago, then pulls off the tank and slips into the t-shirt instead. The material is soft and loose and she already feels like she can breathe easier, but then she grabs a makeup remover pad from her dresser and gets rid of all the foundation, the eye shadow, the blush she put on this morning, and pulls her hair back into a ponytail, not bothering with any of the usual twists or poofs or braids.

As she lies back against her pillows, she can’t remember the last time she felt so human.

.

She doesn’t mean to dye more than a few streaks of her hair.

But she’s never been one to half-ass something, and by the time the bottle empties, there are only a few patches of blonde left. Part of her wants to panic, because she’s awful at digesting big changes and she’s just barely started to accept the move and her dad’s new marriage, but it’s surprisingly easy to keep her pulse steady, and she doesn’t even flinch when Amy walks through the doorway and stops in her tracks.

Amy’s eyes shift from Lauren to the bottle of dye and back again. “What are you…?”

“Look, are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me rinse this shit out?”

She blinks a few more times but eventually snaps out of it and turns on the faucet while Lauren leans over the sink and drapes her hair to hang over the basin. Amy’s hands are surprisingly gentle against her scalp, which leaves Lauren with several unusable insults on the tip of her tongue, and she drums her fingertips against the edge of the counter instead.

“I think there might still be some croquembouche in here.”

Amy’s voice is soft and her tone clearly joking, and the corner of Lauren’s mouth twitches. “Shut the fuck up.”

When the water finally starts running clear again, Amy hands her a towel and Lauren straightens and begins to squeeze it around her hair in chunks. She worries a little about the faint pink stains already appearing on the white terry cloth, but then she looks in the mirror and watches a small, satisfied smile appear on her face.

“It looks really good,” Amy says sincerely.

Lauren shrugs even as her cheeks burn. “I mean, I haven’t even dried it yet, so.”

Amy reaches over to where Lauren’s hairdryer is hanging on the wall and sets it on the counter within arm’s reach, then departs to her room without another word, even closing the door behind her to give Lauren privacy.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out so her cheeks balloon, then plugs in the hairdryer, grabs her brush from the top drawer, and gets to work.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s standing in front of Amy’s door.

“Amy,” she barks.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have any dark-colored clothes?”

“You know you can open the door, right?”

“Just answer the goddamn question.”

“Yeah, I have dark clothes, but I don’t understand why you won’t just—”

The door opens and Amy appears, her mouth still finishing the rest of the sentence, but the words die as her eyes fix on Lauren’s hair, and she’s not even sure Amy realizes she’s staring.

“Can I borrow some shirts?” Lauren asks, waiting for her to snap out of it. “Preferably sans doughnuts?”

That brings Amy back to reality and now she’s pouting. “Fuck you, I love that shirt.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

She throws her a sarcastic smile and false guffaw, but finally moves aside and gestures to her already open closet doors. “Knock yourself out.”

Lauren arches an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? I’m not going in there.”

“They’re just clothes, Lauren.”

“You can’t possibly be expecting to win this argument.”

Amy rolls her eyes and mutters “For the love of God” under her breath, but walks over to her closet anyways and starts shifting clothes around.

Lauren only has to wait a moment before Amy flings a shirt backwards onto her bed, then another, then a few more, until there’s a small pile waiting at the end of the comforter and Amy turns to face her once again.

“Do any of these meet your standards?”

She approaches the bed and tries to examine each shirt without looking too interested. “They’ll do,” she says dismissively, “Can I borrow them?”

Amy doesn’t answer right away, and Lauren tenses in anticipation of a “Why?” but instead she just shrugs a shoulder. “Sure.”

Lauren blinks at her for a second, because it’s actually kind of jarring to prepare your defenses and then not have to use them, and finally she clears her throat. “Thanks,” she says, scooping up the clothes, but they both freeze when they hear Bruce’s voice from the bathroom.

“What on earth… did y’all murder a fairy in here or something?”

“…Or something,” Amy manages, throwing a mildly frantic look at Lauren, who sets the t-shirts back in a heap on the bed and crosses her arms tightly over her chest.

“We’ll clean it up, Daddy,” she calls out as the nerves from a few seconds ago come roaring back.

There’s an excruciating beat of silence followed by footsteps. “Baby, why are you in Amy’s—?” He trails off in midsentence when he appears in the doorway, his eyes widening as he takes in Lauren’s hair.

“Sorry I made such a mess,” Lauren says evenly, trying to sound as confident about all of this as she’s felt since she opened that bottle of dye.

Bruce is still looking at her hair, squinting like he does when he’s watching a football replay and trying to figure out how everything went wrong. “You sure did,” he mutters, maybe to himself, but Lauren hears him loud and clear and her eyes drop to the floor. “How long do them colors usually last?”

Lauren shrugs the tiniest bit. “I don’t know. A while.”

He nods slowly and clears his throat. “I gotta run some errands, but we’ll talk about this later.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Y’all should take care of that before your mom gets home,” he says to Amy before leaving the room and heading downstairs.

Lauren hears Amy close the door but she keeps her gaze pointed down.

“Are you okay?” Amy asks softly, coming a bit closer to her, and Lauren just swallows hard. “Like, I know he’s your dad and all, but that was a total dick move.”

She’s chewing her bottom lip and thinking about the look on his face, thinking hard, and then everything becomes very clear. “Fuck him,” she mutters before yanking her dye-stained shirt up and over her head and seizing one from her pile. Once she’s pulled it on she realizes Amy is staring again; she squeezes her old shirt into a ball and pitches it into the corner.

“Can I help you with something?” she snaps, but as the words burst out, she realizes Amy’s eyes are neither judgmental nor aimed at her hair.

She’s looking at her mouth.

.

Amy doesn’t mean to kiss her, really.

She’s just so fucking sick of people treating Lauren like this—of Shane talking about her like she’s Satan, of Tommy dumping her over those mysterious pills, and now even her own father has knocked her down a peg or two. It’s why she made her that CD, and why she’s been so supportive of this whole thing with the pink hair: she gets needing to reinvent yourself, to be someone else when your own identity doesn’t work for you anymore, plus she’s hardly in a position to judge anyone for wanting to be different.

But it’s also as simple as the fact that Lauren looks _damn_ good with the pink hair (she wasn’t lying earlier), and that she wasn’t nearly prepared to see her in a bra just now, and well… she’s never been great at impulse control.

So she lets herself lean forward, lets her lips press against Lauren’s, and doesn’t panic or second-guess the decision until after they’ve pulled away; that’s when she rakes her fingers through her own hair, trying to catch her breath, and whispers “Shit.”

Lauren’s expression is sour. “Excuse me?”

“No, I mean—the kiss wasn’t shit, it was definitely not shit. It’s just that I’m a _really_ impulsive person… a-and your hair, with the pink, and… Shit,” she finishes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Lauren crosses her arms again and tilts her head thoughtfully. “So what you’re saying is, I look really hot.”

Amy grimaces. “Possibly?”

“Interesting,” Lauren says, almost to herself, then takes a fistful of Amy’s collar and pulls until they’re kissing again, and Amy feels like she should be weirded out by all of this, definitely.

.

She doesn’t mean to be quite so forceful with Amy’s shirt.

But she _is_ Lauren Cooper, and when she has mostly no idea what she’s doing she tries to seize whatever modicum of control she can, and if that means holding on to Amy’s laundry like she’s dangling from a helicopter, then so be it.

It also means that she’s the one who ends the kiss, pulling back so abruptly that Amy’s hand is still semi-raised, maybe getting ready to pull her closer or push her away.

Lauren doesn’t want to know.

But she’s definitely curious about why Amy is blinking so hard, and she raises an eyebrow. “What the hell is wrong with your eyes?”

“Uh,” Amy clears her throat, “Nothing. I’m—I’m good.”

Lauren rolls her eyes. “Fucking weirdo,” she mutters under her breath before turning away and heading for the door. “We should take care of the bathroom,” she announces, pulling an elastic from her wrist and tying her hair back into a messy bun, but when she doesn’t hear any footsteps, she glances back. “Are you gonna help me clean up or what?” she snaps, but then she sees the look on Amy’s face and leans sideways against the doorframe. “You think I look really hot again.”

Amy opens her mouth and closes it again before she actually responds. “You just… don’t even look like the same person,” she says, then catches herself. “N-not that you weren’t hot before—I mean—”

“Wait, so you’ve always found me hot?”

She takes a breath to respond but then shakes her head. “Nope, we’re not having this conversation,” she answers finally, and forces Lauren to back up a step when she closes the door right in front of her.

Before Lauren even has a chance to be mad about this, the door is open once more.

“We still have to clean the bathroom,” Amy mumbles awkwardly, and it makes Lauren kind of want to kiss her again.

.

She doesn’t mean to almost swallow her gum, but when she hears her dad calling her back down to the kitchen after a tense family dinner she suddenly remembers his “We’ll talk about this later” from a few hours ago and now her mouth is dry and there’s a breath stalled in her throat, and she ends up spitting out the brand new stick of spearmint because it’s already making her nauseous to have anything on her tongue.

Her steps are tense and precise, like when she’s walking out onto the floor for a dance competition, only today Bruce and Farrah are waiting for her instead of Pablo (or even Shane; this is the one time she’d prefer him, honestly), and her fingers clamp around the back of the nearest kitchen chair.

For one painful beat, nobody speaks.

“You know you can talk to us about anything, right, baby?” Bruce asks as he stands behind Farrah with his hands on her shoulders.

Lauren nods once. “Yep.”

He takes a deep breath. “Well, is there anything you’ve been meanin’ to—Y’know, are you still strugglin’ with—?”

“I think what your father’s trying to say,” Farrah interrupts gently, “is that you’ve just been a little… off, since you and Tommy broke up…”

“I dumped him,” Lauren corrects flatly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Bruce holds out his hand palm-out like he’s trying to steady her. “Sweetheart, I understand that these things can be pretty rough, especially at your age… I just don’t wanna see you makin’ crazy decisions because of some boy.” He eyes her hair as he says this, and the fingernails on her right hand are digging into her left bicep.

“Uh… what’s going on?”

Lauren forces herself not to turn around at the sound of Amy’s voice behind her, mostly because she’s afraid she looks a lot less composed than she’d like.

Farrah and Bruce exchange glances, probably struggling to find a delicate way to explain.

“Oh my god, is Nana okay? Did she—?”

“Nana’s fine, Amy,” Farrah assures her.

Bruce gives her a very forced smile. “We’re just havin’ a talk with Lauren, is all.”

“A talk about what?” Amy asks after a moment.

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” Bruce replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Why don’t you go on upstairs and--”

“She can stay.”

Lauren is aware of the words entering her brain but still doesn’t quite expect them to actually make it out, so even she’s surprised by her statement. Farrah and Bruce look even more uncomfortable now, and Bruce’s smile is considerably smaller.

He’s looking at Amy again. “Y’know, we’d _really_ rather you—”

“She can _stay_ ,” Lauren repeats, with more force this time, and she feels Amy’s presence beside her almost immediately.

“Look, honey, we’re…” Bruce takes Farrah’s hand and squeezes. “We’ve been real worried about you lately. You’re not goin’ out with your friends anymore, and you’ve been spendin’ all your time at home—”

“She’s been hanging out with me,” Amy says, shifting her weight slightly so their arms are touching just a little. “We’re both going through a lot right now, so we’ve been bonding over that. Getting to really know each other.”

Farrah smiles carefully. “And that’s _wonderful_. We’re so glad y’all are gettin’ along better.”

Lauren wets her lips. “But…”

“But nothin’,” Bruce replies, even though he’s clearly holding back. “It’s just… you’ve always been my little girl, and this…” He gestures vaguely at her hair. “Sweetie, this isn’t you.”

She feels Amy’s fingers toying with the hem of her shirt, right by her hip—a subtle _I’m right here_ , maybe—and straightens her posture defiantly. “You clearly haven’t been paying attention,” she replies, her tone biting but still matter-of-fact, then turns on her heel and goes back upstairs, but to Amy’s room rather than her own. She perches herself at the foot of Amy’s bed, her hands resting loosely in her lap as she picks at her nails and tries to hear pieces of the conversation still happening in the kitchen. The voices aren’t quite loud enough to be discernible, though, and then there are footsteps coming up to the second floor and another body next to hers.

“So, that was sort of awful,” Amy says.

She glares at the hangnail on her middle finger. “Whatever.”

“Are you okay?”

“This was a stupid idea,” she mutters, suddenly thinking about how Quinn’s new look didn’t solve any of her problems and barely lasted ten minutes of screen time.

Amy’s looking at her now. “I don’t think so,” she replies, and there’s a long pause before she speaks again. “Why did you do it in the first place?”

Lauren sighs and leans backward against the comforter. “Because despite my best efforts, none of the freaks this town give a fuck about me, and I figured if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

Amy mirrors her position and they both stare up at the ceiling. “I give a fuck.”

“You’ve also wanted in my pants since I dyed my hair, so you don’t get to have an opinion.”

“I have _not_ wanted—”

She rolls onto her side and pulls Amy’s lips against hers then, very aware of how Amy’s hand is already on her shoulder blade, pulling her closer, keeping her anchored, and of how this new mouth is so much more careful and sincere than Tommy’s ever was. The whole thing is great, _really_ great, except when her arms start to burn from semi-hovering over Amy; so she decides to very slowly let herself relax against her, and as their body heat combines, she hears a soft moan from somewhere in Amy’s throat.

Lauren stops for a moment, looking down at Amy curiously. “How far did you get with Karma?”

“We didn’t—” she begins, practically panting, and shakes her head a little. “Never like this.”

“Interesting,” Lauren says, and when she kisses her this time, their tongues brush together and Amy makes another noise. “Do you need a second to think of the mailman, or something?”

Amy raises an eyebrow. “Wait, wh—?”

Lauren smothers the rest of her question with another long kiss, because she doesn’t need to talk about the fact that she’s been watching such an abominable excuse for a TV show, then rolls off of Amy and sits up. “Goodnight.”

“You can stay,” Amy blurts before Lauren’s ass is even off the mattress, and though she tells herself to keep moving, her bones and muscles don’t cooperate. “If you want, you can stay.”

Lauren chews the inside of her cheek, then eases herself back again and stares up at the plastic stars arranged across the ceiling and takes a deep breath in and out. The bed creaks and she hears Amy get up, and then the lights are off and the stars are suddenly glowing, and Lauren doesn’t expect to be this impressed with the visual.

Now Amy’s pulling back the blankets and Lauren shifts so she can slip between the sheets, curling up on her side to stop Amy from looking at her while she thinks about Tommy, about her dad, about everything. But then she feels pressure against her back, feels Amy moving closer, and she goes rigid.

“ _No_ ,” Lauren snaps, rolling over so fast that Amy actually flinches, “Tommy was always the big spoon and he was a patronizing piece of shit about it. If we’re going to cuddle, _I’m_ the big spoon.”

Amy holds up her hand in surrender. “I was just trying to get my phone so I could set my alarm, but all of that’s cool, too.”

Lauren rolls her eyes, reaching behind her and handing Amy her phone with a huff, then puts it back when Amy’s finished and waits for her to roll and face the other way; but even when she does, Lauren stays completely still.

“Maybe just give your dad some time,” Amy says quietly. “I’m sure he’ll realize this isn’t a big deal. He’ll come around.”

“Just like how your mom’s come around with you, right?” Amy doesn’t respond, and she rolls her eyes at herself. “I’m sorry, that was a shitty thing to say.”

There’s a tired sigh. “You’re right, though. I’m not even fake-dating Karma anymore and my mom is still treating me like I have some terminal illness we can’t talk about. Pep talks from me about unconditional love can’t be very convincing.”

Lauren shrugs. “I think you’re doing an alright job, so far.”

“Interesting,” Amy manages through a yawn, then reaches back and gently pulls Lauren’s hand until her arm is draped around Amy’s waist.

The intimacy of it is kind of startling, because she’s not sure she actually expected Amy to take her cuddling terms seriously, but she takes another deep breath and shifts a bit closer so the angle of her arm resting against Amy’s stomach feels more natural.

The last thing she’s aware of is Amy’s thumb ghosting across the back of her palm just once in response.

Interesting, she thinks.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to everyone who's commented so far. PLEASE CONTINUE SHARING YOUR FEELINGS.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to leave her phone next to Lauren’s side of the bed.

It’s not so much the music that wakes her up (she tends to sleep like the dead, and unless the speaker is right next to her ear, she’ll stay unconscious until her mom intervenes), but rather the persistent poking between her shoulder blades, followed by a hand whacking her upper arm until she can finally pry her eyes open.

“Will you _please_ get your phone to shut the fuck up?”

She rolls over and semi-blindly reaches her arm out. “Gimme the thing,” she mumbles, splaying her fingers until she feels the hard plastic against her palm, then squints at the screen so she can finally type in the password.

The music stops and she slumps against the warmth beside her, letting out a sleepy sigh.

“Not that I don’t appreciate being woken up by songs that were popular back in middle school, but _seriously_? Bowling for _Soup_?”

Amy just “Mmm”s in response, thinking about breathing and how nice Lauren smells and how she’s most definitely not looking forward to school today.

“I mean, I understand why you chose it. ‘ _I almost had you, but I guess that doesn’t cut it, almost loved you, I almost wish you would’ve loved me too_ …’ You’re clearly coping with the Karma stuff _real_ well,” she deadpans.

“Says the one who still has the teddy bear picture frame with Tommy’s face in it.”

“I ripped the head off of that yesterday,” Lauren replies matter-of-factly, “and gave it to the neighbor’s Rottweiler.”

Amy arches an eyebrow against the pillow. “Easy there, Cherie Currie.”

“What the hell does this have to do with Indian food?”

Now she raises her head so she can look Lauren in the eye. “No, like, Cherie Currie the person.” Blank stare. “From The Runaways.” Lauren just blinks at her. “Joan Jett’s old band?” All she gets is a shrug and she rolls onto her back, finally rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “God, what is _wrong_ with you?”

Lauren sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed. “The million-dollar question,” she mutters before getting to her feet and heading for the bathroom. “You should shower first in case the pink gets everywhere,” she says without turning around, and the subsequent door slam leaves Amy one-hundred percent awake.

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to piss off Lauren before they even got to school.

She’s not even sure what she did wrong, but what she does know is that Lauren is one of the only people she’s been able to look in the eye since the wedding without wanting to throw up; Shane’s done his best to be there for her but he’s Liam’s friend before he’s her friend, and she has no intention of being their third Musketeer, of breathing the same air as the guy who’s secretly been sucking face with—

Nope, it’s way too early to be thinking about that, and she’s back to wondering why dramatic one-eighties are Lauren’s new favorite thing. To be honest, the pink hair kind of reminds her of Quinn Fabray from _Glee_ —perfectionist Christian girl who gets sick of all the pressure that comes with the label and decides to give everyone something new to talk about. The whole thing is actually kind of an absurd coincidence—

“Is the drama club doing a production of _Grease_ that nobody decided to tell me about?” Shane asks, abruptly walking alongside her.

“I don’t think so?” she replies, biting into a Pop-Tart. “Why, are there posters or something?”

“No,” he whines, “Lauren showed up to school looking like Frenchy if she listened to too much Green Day, and I refuse to audition for Danny if it would mean working opposite—”

“First of all, if she looks like anyone, it’s a pink-haired Cherie Currie.” Amy stops at her locker and holds her Pop-Tart with her teeth while she twirls the combination. “Second of all,” she continues through another mouthful, “you need to lay off.”

He’s already pouting a little. “Lay off what? The last time I heard her excruciatingly high-pitched voice, she was bad-mouthing me to Pablo for no good reason.”

Amy gives him a look. “No good reason?”

“Okay, so I told everyone she has secret pills and then her boyfriend dumped her because of them. But to be fair, if that’s all it took for him to—”

“She dumped him,” Amy corrects.

“Regardless. If that’s all it took for their relationship to crumble, then they shouldn’t have been together in the first place. So really, I did her a favor.”

Amy stuffs some notebooks into her bag and closes her locker. “Yeah, I’m sure she feels the exact same way.”

“Speaking of crumbling relationships,” Shane says as she’s turning to walk away, “When’s the last time you talked to Karma?”

She stops and takes a deep breath in and out before facing him again. “She texted me a few days ago.”

He crosses his arms. “Sweetie, when’s the last time _you_ talked to _Karma_?”

“Last week,” she says slowly, “when I told her that I love her and my life became a Sam Smith song, just like we all knew it would.” He opens his mouth again, but she cuts him off. “I have to get to class,” she mutters, heading across the courtyard, and it’s a new feeling, looking around for bright pink hair instead of dark brown.

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to focus on her phone rather than on the sidewalk in front of her, but she’s gotten three more texts from Karma since first period, apologies and “I miss you”s and a small army of sad-face emojis, and she starts to hope that if she stares hard enough at the screen the messages will vanish. But she’s so deep into autopilot that she doesn’t see the human being a few feet away and ends up colliding with a wall of cotton t-shirt and cologne, and her phone falls to the pavement between them.

“Sorry,” she blurts, reaching to pick it up, but the other hand gets to it first, and when it’s oddly slow with giving it back to her, she looks up to see Liam’s eyes dipping to the screen.

“No worries,” he says quietly as she snatches her phone back and buries it in her pocket, and he holds out his hand to stop her from bolting. “Look. She hurt both of us, okay? I fell for her too, and—”

“You have no idea what I’ve been feeling,” she says, trying to keep her voice even. “You literally don’t know the first thing about any of this.”

His jaws clench and now he just looks tired. “We don’t have to be enemies, Amy.”

“We’re not enemies,” she replies, “I just don’t want to talk to you. Or look at you. Ever.”

“If I’d known what was really going on—”

“You would’ve what? You would’ve ended things, because you’re only into _single_ lesbians, right?” She shakes her head. “Go fuck yourself.”

His arm drops back to his side but his hand curls into a fist. “Why do you keep acting like this is my fault? I didn’t mean for any of this to—”

“Sorry to interrupt, but on a scale of Mitt Romney to Beyoncé, I’m pretty sure Amy cares about your opinion approximately not at all.”

She’s not sure when Lauren materialized or how long she’s been standing just behind Amy, but the darkening expression on Liam’s face kind of makes her want to do cartwheels.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re not involved in this conversation,” he says tightly.

“God, you are _such_ a Finn Hudson,” Lauren grumbles with a roll of her eyes, then plants her hands firmly on her hips. “If you don’t walk away right now I’m going to kick you in the balls so hard you won’t be able to have sex with anyone, including yourself, for seven to ten business days.” He opens and closes his mouth a few times, and she smiles sweetly. “Go ahead and assume I’m kidding.”

He exhales sharply and storms off in the other direction, and Amy glances at Lauren.

“I _knew_ someone was messing with my episode queue.”

“Thank you for making the annoying douchebag go away, Lauren,” she says pleasantly. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Lauren.”

Amy’s stifling a small smile for the first time today. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lauren dismisses, heading for the cafeteria door, but then she stops and looks back at Amy. “Are you coming or what? I’m not the seat-saving type.”

“Uh—yeah. Just give me a second to grab my lunch,” she says, and Lauren huffs a little but perches herself one of the benches in front of the building. Amy makes it back to her locker in record time and grabs the turkey sandwich that’s been waiting patiently on top of her textbooks, but when she turns around, everything stops.

Karma is chewing her bottom lip. “Hey.”

Amy swallows hard and tries her best to look her in the eye. “Hey,” she echoes, keeping her tone as apathetic as possible.

“You’ve been ignoring my texts.”

She shrugs a little. “Yep.”

Karma’s voice is thick. “Why?”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” she mutters, but Karma mirrors her side-step.

“Amy,” she says quietly, “I’m so sorry. I—I _miss_ you, I’m—” Now the corner of her mouth is wobbling. “ _Please_.”

Something in her chest is on fire and her palm is clammy against the sandwich bag. “Lauren’s waiting for me,” she manages.

“And I’m not?” Karma crosses her arms over her chest, but it’s more protective than confrontational. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Amy opens her mouth, but it takes several moments for any sound to actually come out. “I can’t. I just… I can’t. Not yet.”

Karma nods several times and attempts a smile. “Okay. But there’s a _Property Brothers_ marathon tomorrow, and I’d love to watch it with my best friend.”

_“I hope you can find one in time”_ is what almost slips out, but she swallows the words. “I have to go,” she mumbles instead, finally shrugging past Karma and making her way back to the cafeteria.

“It’s about fucking time,” Lauren snaps when Amy approaches, but her expression softens when she sees how glassy her eyes are. “What, did Tegan & Sara announce their retirement or something?”

“Or something,” she replies through the lump in her throat as she takes a seat next to Lauren. She sets her sandwich down, leans forward, and rests her elbows on her knees, raking her fingers through her hair as she takes a deep breath in and out.

Lauren crosses one leg over the other. “Fuck her,” she says simply, picking at a cheese stick.

Amy shakes her head and sniffs. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, barely getting the words out. “I miss her, but then I stop to think about it and remember all the shit she pulled, and I hate her again.” She unwraps her sandwich and bites off a small, unenthusiastic mouthful. “I’m such an idiot.”

“That’s true in many contexts, but not this one.” Amy glances over and watches Lauren put all of her focus into pulling off another string from her cheese stick. “I may not be good with girl problems, but we both know you’re not the one who fucked up, here.”

Amy’s staring at her lap again. “I still feel shitty.”

“Well yeah, you’re you.” At Amy’s look, she holds up her hands. “I meant that you generally always feel shitty about something, not that you _should_ always feel shitty about something. Jesus.”

Amy nods and forces herself to take another bite of sandwich. “So, how’s _your_ day been so far?”

Lauren shrugs. “Lots of staring. No one at this school knows how to be subtle.”

“I could’ve told you that. What about your friends?”

“Lisbeth and Leila? They asked for permission to tell me they loved my hair, and then asked for permission to not have to ask for permission anymore.” She takes a sip of Vitamin Water. “And then they asked for permission join the knitting club.”

The corner of Amy’s mouth twitches. “Did you release them into the wild?”

“I did. And then I walked by Tommy and he spit out a mouthful of Gatorade all over the back of his friend’s head, which is an image I’ll cherish forever.” She shrugs again. “All in all, not bad.”

They eat in silence for a while, and Amy thinks that if they turned double-takes at Lauren into a drinking game, they might both have alcohol poisoning by now. “We should watch _The Runaways_ tonight.”

“That thing with Cherie-Currie-the-person?”

“Yes.”

Lauren sighs. “Whatever. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“That’s definitely the ideal way to accept an invitation.”

“Do you want me to break out into song or something?” she snaps, “I said I’ll watch it.”

“I gotta say, I’m glad you’ve found someone else to listen to your constant bitching, but if you think some hair dye is gonna make people like you, you’re even more of a headcase than I thought.”

They both look up to find Tommy standing in front of them, flanked by some of his football teammates; one of them has damp hair, like he just got out of the shower, and Amy sets her jaw.

“I heard you reenacted that scene from _The Exorcist_ earlier,” she replies. “Ever think about dropping football and auditioning for drama club?”

“No, I think you belong there more than I do.” He crosses his arms thoughtfully. “How are you and your fake girlfriend doing, by the way? That performance has been off the charts.”

Before Amy can even take another breath, Lauren is off the bench and rocketing her shin into Tommy’s crotch, and he drops to his knees as he grips the front of his pants for dear life.

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” she growls, then turns to face Amy. “Let’s go.”

Amy’s still staring wide-eyed at Tommy, who looks like he’s trying really hard not to curl into the fetal position. “Go where?”

“Let’s go watch that stupid movie.”

She blinks. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“We still have three more periods left.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just because there’s school happening doesn’t mean we have to be here for it.”

Amy glances at Tommy one last time before nodding slowly. “Okay,” she says, and once they’ve grabbed their bags she follows Lauren to the parking lot.

They climb into Amy’s car and strap on their seatbelts, but then Amy pauses for such a long moment that Lauren reaches over and snaps her fingers a few times in front of her face. Amy gently bats her hand away and wets her lips. “You talked to Tommy about me?” she asks quietly, but Lauren just stares at her feet. “It’s just, you’re the only person who thought—”

“That you were both faking it so you could beat me for Homecoming Queen, and yeah, I complained to him about it a lot, but that was before…” Her tone softens just a little. “Before I overheard you guys at the wedding.”

Amy nods slowly and puts the keys in the ignition, but doesn’t start the engine yet. “Tommy’s an asshole.”

Lauren sighs. “I am too, sort of.”

“I’m not sure if I can agree with that after what you just did to his penis.”

“I was a bit disappointed that Liam didn’t give me the opportunity, so I chose Tommy instead.” She shrugs, completely nonchalant. “I’ve been in the mood.”

Amy studies Lauren as her eyes burn holes into the floor mat, then reaches out, turns Lauren’s head to face her, and presses their lips together for a brief but firm kiss. “Interesting,” she says after she pulls away, and starts the car without another word.

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to ignore Bruce’s call, but Kristen Stewart is undressing Dakota Fanning with her eyes again and she’ll be damned if she lets her phone interrupt this scene. She silences the ringer and leans forward so she can toss it to the foot of Amy’s bed and when she settles back again, she finds her head resting against Amy’s chest.

It’s just basic short person/tall person physics. Whatever.

When the credits roll, Amy gestures at the screen. “There you go. Cherie-Currie-the-person.”

Lauren thinks for a beat. “Does that make you Joan Jett?”

“I guess if you ignore the fact that I don’t have a mullet, I can’t play guitar, and I’ve never worn pants that tight in my life.”

“So we’re not ignoring the fact that they make out a lot, then.” Amy’s heart starts beating faster beneath her ear, and she smirks a little.

Amy swallows hard. “Is there a safe response to that?”

“I need to pee,” is all Lauren gives her, and she gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom.

She’s washing her hands when there’s a knock on her own bedroom door. “You in here, sweet pea?” asks her dad’s muffled voice, and she rolls her eyes as she dries her hands.

“One second,” she calls out, but takes her time walking around the corner. “Yes?”

He opens his mouth then changes his mind about something. “How was school today?”

“Fine,” she says with a shrug. “Why?”

“Well, uh…” He clears his throat and buries his hands in his pockets. “Your principal called a few hours ago. She said there’s a rumor goin’ around that you assaulted a classmate? Now, I _told_ her, I said you wouldn’t do somethin’ like that… but I wanted to ask you myself.”

Lauren crosses her arms over her chest. “It was Tommy.”

“What was Tommy?”

“I assaulted Tommy.”

Bruce makes a face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Honey, I know he’s not your favorite person right now, but why on _earth_ would you—”

“He said something rude to Amy. It was a ‘Cell Block Tango’ situation.”

“A cell block what-now?”

She exhales sharply. “Do you remember that musical Farrah made you sit through a few weeks ago? The one with the annoying blonde lady who wants to be famous? There’s that number that’s all ‘ _He had it coming, he only had himself to blame_ ’—”

“Oh, so you got in a fight because you saw it in a _movie_ ,” he interrupts sarcastically, “Now it all makes perfect sense.”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Look,” he snaps, “I don’t want this escalatin’ any further, you hear me?” For a moment he studies her carefully. “Now, I wasn’t gonna ask you this, ‘cause I know how much you hate talkin’ about it, but I need an honest answer here.” He takes a deep breath. “Honey, are you havin’ your episodes again?”

Lauren clenches her jaw. “Excuse me?”

“I know, I know,” he says, holding out his hands cautiously, “But I think at this point it’s a valid question.”

“You want an honest answer?” she asks as evenly as possible. “All of this”—she gestures to her hair and then to her t-shirt and jeans—“is _preventing_ me from having an episode. So how about you stop pretending to know anything about my _behavior_ ,” she snaps, using exaggerated air quotes, “because this is the most ‘me’ I’ve felt since you moved us to this stupid fucking town.” She wraps her fingers around the doorknob in a white-knuckle grip. “Any other questions?”

Bruce’s expression is a mix of disbelief and frustration. “A few,” he grumbles, “but they can wait.” He starts to turn away, pauses. “Also, you’re grounded for skipping your classes.”

“How long?” she asks, doing everything in her power to not grind her teeth.

“Haven’t decided yet. Just assume it’s until further notice.”

She rolls her eyes and slams the door, then walks back to the bathroom and slams that door too, just for fun, and she’s about to rip open Amy’s door when she hears Farrah’s voice on the other side.

“…got a call from Principal Penelope this afternoon. Somethin’ about Lauren bein’ involved in some physical violence against a classmate. Do you know anything about that?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Uh, no. I haven’t heard anything. I honestly have no idea.”

Lauren can hear how badly she’s lying even through the door.

“Well, if you’re sure. I just thought I’d ask.” There’s a muffled noise as the other door closes, and Lauren counts to five before letting herself back into Amy’s room and slamming that door behind her as well.

Amy doesn’t even flinch. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone else slam my door before.”

“That sounds like a euphemism,” Lauren mutters, and slides down until she’s sitting on the carpet.

“Can’t you just say ‘that’s what she said’ like everyone else?” Amy jokes, but when Lauren doesn’t respond, she frowns a little. “You okay?”

Lauren presses her palms against the floor and digs her fingertips into the fibers. “You didn’t have to lie to your mom, you know. I told my dad what I did.”

Amy gets up from her bed and walks over to where Lauren’s sitting, then lowers herself beside her. “You didn’t have to kick Tommy in the balls today.”

“My dad certainly seems to think as much,” Lauren mutters, trying to ignore the way her hands are shaking just a little.

“What happened?”

Lauren stares at her knees, focuses on each inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, and she’s about to ball her hands into fists when Amy’s suddenly covers one of hers.

“Dude, you’re shaking,” she says quietly, then moves her hand to Lauren’s forehead. “What’s going on with you?”

“I’m _fine_ , okay?” Lauren snaps, jerking away and getting to her feet. “Stop _touching_ me.” She storms back to her room, doing her door-slamming routine in reverse, then digs into the bottom drawer of her nightstand and pulls out the dwindling bottle of tablets.

As she dry-swallows, she decides she’s probably just imagining the awful taste in her mouth.

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to… well, to do whatever she just did, but like this morning, she’s kind of not sure how she fucked up. She’s never been snapped at for caring too much… but then again, when has Lauren ever made things easy for her?

Dinner is quiet and tense, with Amy unsure of what to say and Lauren not speaking to anyone at all, and she spends the rest of the night organizing her Netflix watch list and making Lauren a new mix as a vague sort of peace offering for whatever happened earlier.

When the CD is done burning she glances at her door, but thinks better of it and leaves it in her computer. She changes into boxers and an old t-shirt, turns off the light, and climbs into bed, closing her eyes as she thinks about angry girls and rock music and Lauren’s shaky hands.

She’s just about to go under when she feels the mattress dip, and she opens one eye to find Lauren curled up next to her. “Hey,” she murmurs softly, and then there’s a mouth on hers, each kiss urgent like it’s the only thing that matters, and they don’t stop when Amy ghosts her fingers through Lauren’s hair, or when she curls her arm around Lauren’s lower back to pull her closer, or when her tongue slips inside Lauren’s mouth for the first time.

Amy only breaks away when she hears how hard Lauren is breathing—she’s not sure if it’s just from making out, or if there’s something else, but she’d rather Lauren didn’t faint—and plants a single, gentle kiss on Lauren’s forehead.

Lauren immediately rolls over and Amy opens her mouth to protest, because she definitely didn’t mean for that to piss her off, but then there’s a hand on her wrist and she lets her arm be draped over Lauren’s stomach.

“I thought you hated being the small spoon,” she whispers.

“Are you being a patronizing piece of shit?” Lauren mumbles.

“No?”

“Then shut the fuck up,” she says, and her words are heavy with sleepiness.

Amy shifts just a little bit closer, marveling at how tiny Lauren feels against her chest, and slowly covers Lauren’s hand with her own.

(It’s steady, now.)


	3. Three

She doesn’t mean to jerk awake so violently, but the power chords suddenly blaring from Amy’s phone are not the decade-old pop song that she’s been bracing herself for, and she’s never been one to appreciate an abrupt wake-up call.

“We need to work out a new system,” she grumbles, grabbing the phone and tapping it against Amy’s temple. “I don’t know what this bullshit is, but make it stop.”

Amy groans as she rolls onto her back and pushes her hair out of her face. “Can we just have one morning where you wait to berate me until I’m fully conscious?” She covers one eye and peers at her phone screen with the other, then types in the unlock code and the alarm goes blissfully silent. “Also, Joan Jett is not bullshit,” she says, setting her phone on her stomach. “I sort of, um…” She takes a breath. “Actually, never—”

“Oh my god, just say it.”

She wets her lips. “I sort of made you another mix, and that’s sort of the opening track. Here,” she continues, picking up her phone again, “listen to the—”

“Or you could just tell me,” Lauren interrupts, covering the screen so Amy can’t scroll, “to ensure that the rest of my morning is very, very quiet.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Fine. I mean, it’s all in the first line of the song, anyways—‘ _I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation_.’”

“And that made you think of me?” Lauren asks, tilting her head thoughtfully.

She shrugs. “‘ _A girl can do what she wants to do, and that’s what I’m gonna do_.’”

Lauren sings the next line under her breath and has to dodge the pillow Amy tries to whack her with.

“You asshole, you totally know what I’m talking about.”

She points to herself. “Oh no,” she replies, “Not me.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking a shower.”

.

She doesn’t mean to eye-stalk Karma during lunch.

The thing is, though, that Karma’s been in visual range since they sat down to eat, and while Amy’s having too much of a religious experience with her potato salad to notice, Lauren keeps finding herself glaring at the annoyingly mopey expression on Karma’s face, and finally she decides she can’t take it anymore.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she announces, deciding it’s unnecessary to divulge her actual reasons for leaving the table, and Amy just nods. She heads in the direction of the bathroom but then takes a wide loop around the quad until she’s behind Karma, and after a quiet clear of her throat, she pounces. “You’re kind of a piece of shit,” she says without preamble, sitting next to Karma so she’s facing the opposite way with her elbows resting back against the table, and it’s immensely satisfying to see Karma jump at her sudden presence.

“Excuse me?”

Lauren crosses one leg over the other. “You have to be at least mildly aware of that. Using your best friend to convince an Edward Cullen wannabe that he should have the hots for you… Constantly putting said Edward Cullen wannabe before said best friend… Breaking said best friend’s heart at her own mother’s wedding…”

“How do you know about that?” Karma asks quietly.

“Oh, I was in the bathroom when you guys were talking,” Lauren explains with a dismissive wave of her hand, “Heard the whole thing.”

Karma shakes her head. “Jeez, what is it with you eavesdropping on all our conversations?”

“I don’t know. What is it with you not giving Amy the space she clearly wants and deserves?”

“So, what, are you like the new leading authority on Amy Raudenfeld? I’ve been her best friend since—”

“I’m the one she’s still speaking to,” Lauren interrupts sweetly, and Karma visibly shrinks. “Now, since we both know you’re terrible at picking up on basic social cues including but not limited to ‘Please stop talking about Liam Booker because I am _transparently_ in love with you,’ I’m gonna say this to you as succinctly as possible.” Lauren rotates in place so her entire body is facing Karma. “You need to _back off_.”

Karma balks and shakes her head again. “You can’t tell me—”

“You just spent the last few weeks dragging her through the emotional mud and muck in order to check quite possibly _the_ most uninteresting member of the male species off your to-do list. If you want her to forgive you in this lifetime, let alone by graduation, you have to let her hate you for a while.”

She sucks in a breath like she just got punched in the stomach. “Amy said she hates me?” she asks thickly.

“And that she misses you. And it’s the kind of vicious circle that won’t be any easier to sort out if you keep cornering her at her locker to try to guilt her into being BFFs again,” she continues in the most pointed tone she’s capable of.

Karma wipes a tear from her eye before it has a chance to fall. “I’m so scared that if I stop trying, she’ll never speak to me again.”

Lauren shrugs. “Amy’s probably scared that if she speaks to you again, you’ll yank out her aorta just like you did at the wedding.”

Karma wraps her arms around her chest. “I guess that’s fair.”

“Good, I’m glad we have an understanding.” She rises from the bench, but Karma turns so she’s still facing her.

“Why do you care so much all of a sudden? A few weeks ago you two were hurling croquembouche at each other.”

Lauren doesn’t answer right away, because it hadn’t even really occurred to her that she cared or whatever, but then she squares her shoulders and looks Karma directly in the eye. “As her best friend, you should probably already know the answer to that question.” Now she frowns a little. “Like, it’s really hard _not_ to care about her, so I don’t know what your excuse is.”

“I care about her, okay? More than anyone else—”

“Yeah, we’ve all heard the speech. You just have a funny way of showing it, is all.” She walks away before Karma can get another word in, stops at the vending machine to buy a Coke, and returns to her seat across from Amy. “Jesus, are you still not done with that yet?”

Amy throws her a defensive pout as she eats another spoonful. “The cafeteria doesn’t serve potato salad very often. I’m savoring the experience.”

“You are so fucking weird,” Lauren mutters, and when she glances back to Karma’s bench, it’s empty.

.

She doesn’t mean to almost plow into her dad, but she also doesn’t expect him to be in her bedroom when she gets home.

“Whoa, didn’t see you there,” he greets like this is a totally normal thing. “What’re you doin’ home so early?”

“You grounded me, remember?” she says, arching an eyebrow.

He frowns and looks at his watch. “Is it that time already?” he mutters, then clears his throat. “Well, I appreciate you honorin’ the rules, sweetheart.”

“Why were you in my room?”

“Oh, I was just lookin’ for… for, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m missin’ a pair of socks and I thought maybe they got mixed up in the laundry. I’m gonna see if Farrah needs any help with dinner,” he announces before hurrying downstairs like he’s afraid the stove is about to explode.

Lauren chews the inside of her cheek for a beat and then enters her room, letting her eyes do a slow sweep over her bed, her dresser, her desk, her open closet, to see if anything is out of place. Nothing jumps out at her, but then she glances at the bottom drawer of her nightstand and her breath catches in her throat.

It takes her a split second to kneel down and open the drawer; the traffic-cone orange bottle stares back at her, and she lets herself breathe again.

Her phone’s alert tone goes off and she shoves the drawer back in, then grabs her cell from her back pocket and finds a text from Amy.

**You didn’t tell me he grounded you.**

She rolls her eyes and throws her phone onto her bed so she can pull her hair back into a ponytail, and the tone chimes again before she’s even finished.

**Was it for the hair, or skipping class, or both?**

She sighs and picks up her phone again, then types. **You’re right, I’m sure assaulting Tommy wasn’t part of it.**

**Almost all of those reasons are my fault. This isn’t fair.**

Lauren takes a steadying breath and starts to sort out a response in her head, then frowns at herself. “Why are we texting about this?” she asks aloud, and when she opens the bathroom door to go into the next room, she finds Amy standing right in front of her, fist raised and about to knock.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lauren says just as Amy repeats “It’s not fair,” and Lauren leans sideways against the doorframe. “Look. I’m the one who dyed my hair, I’m the one who kicked Tommy in the nuts, and it was my idea to ditch class.”

“But I’m the one who—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Lauren interrupts, but her tone is matter-of-fact rather than harsh or irritated. “It’s fine, okay? I’ll deal with it.”

Amy doesn’t look convinced. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, for the love of _god_ ,” she grumbles, then pulls Amy forward by her shirt and closes the door behind them; she shoves her (gently, sort of) against it, stands on her tip-toes, and presses their mouths together for a short but searing kiss before pulling away. “I’m not.”

Amy is practically panting and Lauren finds that she’d really like to continue with this conversation, but there’s a quiet knock at her door.

“Lauren?” Farrah calls out, “Do you mind if I come in just for a second?”

“ _Shit_ ,” they hiss in unison, and both scramble to open the bathroom door so Amy can get out, and Farrah lets herself in just as the door closes behind Lauren.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Farrah says gently, perching herself on Lauren’s desk chair. “I was just wonderin’ if we could have a talk. Just the two of us?”

She seems genuine enough, so Lauren takes a seat on her bed, leaning back against the headboard. “Sure.”

Farrah nods and folds her hands in her lap. “I know your dad’s been gettin’ all wound up about—well, over these last few days. And while I do agree that it’s _very bad_ to beat up ex-boyfriends,” she says with a conspiratorial wink, “The fact of the matter is that he’s a man, and I’m thinkin’ he might just not… understand certain things,” she finishes carefully.

“This isn’t PMS,” Lauren replies bluntly, torn between praying that Farrah hasn’t just been writing all of this off as hormones, and praying that female bodily functions are all this conversation is about.

“Oh lord, of course not. That’s not what I’m getting at, sweetie.” Farrah is looking just above Lauren’s head now, like you’re taught to do in class if you get nervous during a presentation. “I’ve just been… _thinking_ , you know, about what Amy’s been going through, and all the struggles you’ve been havin’, fittin’ in here, and…” She opens her mouth again, but nothing comes out.

Lauren arches an eyebrow. “And what?”

Farrah clears her throat. “Well—I… now, I wouldn’t blame you at all for this…”

“For _what_?”

She leans forward in the chair a little, and when she speaks again, it’s in a whisper. “Did you—you know—switch?”

Lauren just blinks at her. “Switch?” she echoes.

Farrah looks incredibly uncomfortable but is still trying to force a brave smile. “Sexually,” she clarifies, and glances at the door for a moment. “Like I said, I wouldn’t blame you. I know you might be feelin’ a lot of pressure to fit in with the kids at school, and even with this family, given Amy’s—”

“No,” Lauren blurts, shaking her head quickly. “Oh my god, no. I’m not—this isn’t a lesbian thing.”

“And that’s fine, too!” Farrah assures her, holding up her hands. “I just thought, with the hair and everything… but if that’s not—then it’s fine. It’s _great_.” She freezes. “I mean, obviously Amy—it’s _different_ , but it’s not…”

“I get it.”

Farrah nods and lets out a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad we cleared that up. I’m gonna go make sure your father doesn’t burn down the kitchen,” she says with a joking smile, then leaves the room.

Lauren lets her head fall back against the headboard, and then she’s thinking about how she hasn’t slept in this bed since—

She sits straight up and glances at the bathroom door, suddenly remembering who ducked out two minutes ago.

“Oh, _shit_.”

.

She doesn’t mean to stand there and wait—well, maybe she does; maybe it’s the listening she doesn’t intend—but these rooms aren’t exactly sound-proofed, and she’s more than a little curious about why her mom wants to talk to Lauren.

Most of the conversation has her biting her lips so she won’t laugh, but then she hears one particular sentence and her stomach drops. She slides off the counter where she’s been sitting and goes quietly back to her own room, slumps into her desk chair, and tries to take even breaths as her knee jiggles up and down. After a minute she grabs her phone and opens a game, something relatively mindless so she doesn’t have to think about anything, and she clenches her jaw when there’s a quiet knock at her door.

“It’s open,” she calls out, her tone biting and falsely pleasant, and she’s completely unsurprised when Lauren appears.

“Hey.” Amy ignores her, and she sighs. “You’re mad.”

Amy shrugs. “I just suck at 2048,” she replies without looking away from her screen, “and I’ve also kind of had it up to here with not-lesbians.”

Lauren folds her arms tightly over her chest. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Well, what _did_ you mean?” she snaps, letting her phone drop to her desk and turning to face Lauren. “Karma only kissed me so she could sleep with Liam. You _know_ that,” she says, her voice starting to wobble as her eyes get glassy, “So what’s _your_ excuse? Why bother with any of it if it’s not gonna mean anything to you?” A tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away with her fingers.

“That’s not what I said,” Lauren says quietly.

Amy nods. “Right, you just said ‘Oh my god, I’m not a lesbian’ thirty seconds after you kissed me against your fucking bedroom door.”

Lauren wets her lips. “Just because I—”

“You know what, save it. I let her convince me again and again that everything made sense, and that it was worth it.” She sniffs and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Honestly? It’s not.” Her voice cracks on the last word and she turns away from her and opens her laptop. “Here’s that mix I made you,” she mutters, ejecting the disc from her computer and tossing it at Lauren. “I have homework to do.”

Lauren barely saves the CD from falling to the ground. “Amy, please,” she says, clearly trying to stay calm, “I swear I didn’t—”

“I don’t care.”

She doesn’t move. “You’ll probably just get more upset if I tell you you’re overreacting, huh.”

“Yeah,” Amy snaps as she closes her computer with more force than necessary, “probably.”

Lauren nods slowly and then shrugs. “I’m sorry,” she says one more time, with a powerlessness that makes Amy want to throw up, and closes the door gently on her way out.

Amy wishes she’d slammed it.

.

She doesn’t mean to fuck up literally everything she touches, or to think about the deep irony in her fucking up with Amy a few hours after giving Karma a lecture about earning redemption.

But that’s what’s rattling around in her head on loop as she tries to read her stupid American Lit book; tries, because her eyes keep flitting from the CD sitting on her desk to the bottom drawer of her nightstand and back again as she wars between sucking it up or going for the bottle. Her breathing is normal enough but her pulse is too fast, like she’s been doing P90X rather than sitting still on her bed, and her shaky hands are making it hard to focus on the words in front of her, but maybe if she just gives it a few more minutes…

No, fuck this, she has to do something. Anything.

A few moments later she’s at her desk and loading the CD into her computer. She nearly punches the screen in when the track listing doesn’t show any song names or artists (iTunes can go fuck itself, honestly), but she takes a deep breath, plugs in her headphones, and hits play, cranking up the volume as the same power chords from this morning annihilate her eardrums.

The noise wipes out all possible thought processes and her eyes slip closed in relief, but then she notices it: this absurd ache in her chest that definitely wasn’t there before, one that she doesn’t remember feeling when she dumped Tommy. She rests her head in her hands, rubbing her eyes like there’s some magical pressure technique that will make all of this stupidity go away, and she jumps when there’s suddenly a hand on her shoulder.

She rips out her earbuds and glances up to find Bruce studying her carefully. “What?” she snaps, instantly regretting her tone but way too exhausted to try and backtrack.

“Dinner’s ready,” he replies, working his jaw. “Been callin’ you for five minutes.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ll eat later.”

He rolls his eyes. “Geez Louise, did you and Amy both skip your last period and go out for pizza or somethin’?”

“No—we went to all of our classes and came home right after, and I happen to not be hungry right now.” Her voice is rising and she clutches the edge of her chair as if that will help. “Would you like security camera footage, or can you just take my word for it?”

Bruce sighs and crouches down so they’re at the same eye level. “Somethin’s wrong, sweetie. I can see it in your eyes. _Talk_ to me,” he pleads, taking one of her hands into his own.

She wants the contact to feel good and safe, but his palm is calloused and controlling and too big, and not the one she knows will calm her down. “I’m fine,” she says, slowly pulling away from his grasp. “Just a little overwhelmed with schoolwork, is all. I’ve been playing catch-up since we moved, especially with my AP classes.” The words come out so smoothly that she almost has herself convinced, but Bruce doesn’t back off.

“No, see, I’ve seen you under academic pressure before, and it’s never involved pink hair or violence, or—or rock music—”

“Are you actually going to be that parent?” Lauren asks incredulously. “Amy made me a CD, it’s not—”

“Amy, huh?” he interrupts, and something in his voice makes Lauren wish she could take it back. “We’ll leave the food on the table for you, whenever you’re ready to come down and eat,” he says, and then he’s out the door, and Lauren actually feels sort of sick now.

She slaps the space bar button to stop the music and dives onto her bed, burying her face in the pillows so she can force her breathing to slow down, but then all she can think about is how these sheets are too rough and they don’t smell right and how when she goes to sleep tonight there won’t be hot breath on the back of her neck or an arm wrapped around her stomach, because she fucked up she fucked up she fucked up.

(Later, after she brushes her teeth, a white tablet hits the back of her throat. If she’s going to be nauseous all night, she might as well pretend it’s a side-effect.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, we're halfway through the fic. This is the shortest chapter; the next one is much longer, and the last is the longest.
> 
> I've aggressively appreciated all of your feedback/comments. Stay tuned, Cooperfelds :)


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This penultimate chapter is the second-longest of the fic and also one of my favorites. Thank you all for being so lovely :)

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to wake up to “Cherry Bomb” this morning.

Her eyes almost don’t open, given the disorienting lack of poking or prodding or “I hate this song” to drive the sleepiness away, and once she remembers everything that happened last night she’s left with very little motivation to get out of bed.

Finally she heaves herself off the mattress and stumbles to the bathroom, bracing herself both for the bright lights and the possibility of having to face Lauren, but when she opens the door and flips the switch, she’s alone. The silence is almost smothering as she brushes her teeth, and she takes her time in the shower just to see if anyone yells at her to hurry up, but the scolding never comes and she eventually gives up.

Breakfast is just as quiet and now she’s actually annoyed that Lauren seems to be planning to starve herself in order to avoid interacting with her. What’s the point, really, when they have the whole car ride to school anyways?

The minutes tick by and Amy waits by the front door—she may be pissed off, but she’s not an asshole—and she’s about to stomp up the stairs and drag Lauren out of her room when Farrah appears from around the corner.

“You can go ahead to school, Amy.”

She glances up to the second floor landing, then back at her mom. “What about Lauren?”

“She already left with Bruce,” she explains, pulling her robe tighter around her waist. “She has an appointment.”

“Like, a dentist appointment?” The specifics shouldn’t matter, but Farrah seems tense and there’s something really weird about all of this.

Farrah smiles. “Something like that. You better get goin’ or you’re gonna be late for school, young lady.”

Amy blinks at her and then finally grabs her keys from the dish and heads out the door, and as much as thinking about Lauren’s words makes her eyes sting, it’s still frustrating to not have someone bicker with her about what music to listen to in the car.

As she drives away, she turns off the music completely.

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to tighten her social circle so much since the wedding.

She doesn’t think she’s said a word since she left the house this morning—no classmates have acknowledged her, no teachers have asked her for answers, and no pint-sized, pink-haired human beings have compelled her to launch into a speech about music or documentaries or why it’s perfectly normal for someone to own a doughnut shirt.

But that’s also what’s killing her right now. The memories from last night still make her blood boil, but Lauren’s absence almost makes it worse; she’s not sure if she just wants to yell at her again, or try to talk things out, or what, but the bottom line is that Lauren should be _here_ and not _there_ , not at some mysterious appointment that made Farrah act like she was being interrogated by the cast of _Law & Order_.

Amy sighs and heads around the corner to her next class, stopping short when she sees Shane at his locker. She nibbles her lip, looking around for any sign of Liam and finding none, and she’s taking a step forward when Karma walks up to him from the other direction. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but like… does it matter? Shane is supposed to be _her_ friend, not Karma’s. Shane knows everything that happened between them, should know he’s not allowed to—

She doesn’t even know how to finish the sentence, and she backtracks to a different hallway so she can take the scenic route to US History.

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to stop in her tracks in the middle of the cafeteria.

A few people bump into her and she hears an F-word or two, but none of that distracts her from the sight of Shane and Karma sitting together at the end of a table, both leaning forward like they’re exchanging top-secret information.

“What the f…?” she mumbles under her breath, then shakes her head a little and goes out to the quad on the off-chance that Lauren has magically decided to show up. She’s nowhere to be found, obviously, and Amy is ready to settle for a bench in the corner, but then she sees Lisbeth and Leila sitting a few yards away with what is unmistakably the knitting club, given the mountain of yarn on the table.

She evaluates her options, decides against overanalyzing, and takes a deep breath.

“Hey, um…” she begins as she approaches, not quite sure what to say, but she’s immediately met with smiles.

“Hi, Amy!” Lisbeth greets, and Leila gives her a small wave. “Do you wanna sit with us?” she asks, already making room at the table.

Amy thinks her mouth might be hanging open a little. “I don’t know, are you allowed to associate with non-knitters?”

“Everyone’s a knitter,” Leila replies, handing her two needles and a ball of yarn. “Some people just don’t know it yet.”

She nods slowly. “Some are born knitters; some have knitting thrust upon them.”

“I just got chills,” Lisbeth says, her tone maybe a little more dramatic than is necessary, but Amy can’t help a small grin as she takes a seat.

“You guys seem really happy.”

Lisbeth shrugs as she works her knitting needles. “It’s been nice, not having to worry about perfect hair or perfect clothes or perfect cheese-stick-eating technique. But don’t tell Lauren I said that,” she adds quickly.

“Honestly, I think she’d agree with you,” Amy replies, picking the tomatoes out of her sandwich.

“Speaking of which,” Leila pipes up, “is she not here today? I thought she was trying for that perfect attendance award.”

Amy finishes putting her sandwich back together. “She, um. She had an appointment. Or something.”

“I wonder if it’s about—”

“Shut up, Leila,” Lisbeth interrupts in a hushed voice. “Just because she’s not here, doesn’t mean we should invade her privacy.” She looks nervously at Amy. “I shouldn’t have told Shane about those pills. They’re not even scandalous—he blew it way out of proportion.”

Amy chews her bite of food carefully and swallows. “He does have that tendency.”

Lisbeth leans in close. “Everyone’s assuming they’re for weight loss, but—”

“Don’t tell me,” Amy blurts, holding up her hand. “She can explain it to me if she wants, but I don’t… It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

Leila and Lisbeth exchange glances. “That’s, like, really sweet of you,” Leila says like she’s shocked by what she’s hearing.

Amy shrugs. “Isn’t it sort of basic human decency?”

They take thoughtful sips of their Capri Suns, and Amy’s eyes wander around the quad until they land on Karma (alone, this time) sitting on a bench that’s suspiciously close to Amy’s locker.

“I’ll be right back,” she mutters, then leaves the table and walks across the way until her feet are planted in front of Karma. “What do you want?”

“Are you serious?”

She folds her arms. “You’ve strategically positioned yourself in a place where I’d have to run into you eventually. What do you want?” she repeats.

Karma takes a breath to steady herself. “Okay, I’ll admit that I’m not sitting here for no reason. I figured since you obviously hate it when I approach you, that _you_ might be willing to start a conversation instead.” She gestures at Amy. “And that planned worked out, sort of.”

“Yep, here I am,” she replies, her tone falsely pleasant, “Starting a conversation. Now what do you—?”

“Will you please stop asking me that? You know what I want.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m gonna have to bail on _Property Brothers_.”

Karma rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant—”

“Then why don’t you just say what you mean?” Amy practically shouts, “Why doesn’t anybody ever just say what they mean!”

“Because you don’t give them a _chance_ ,” Karma snaps, getting to her feet. “Look, I know I’ve hurt you, okay? Hurt you _badly_. But to be fair, whenever I try to explain myself, you _always_ cut me off. There’s two sides to every story, and yeah, mine pretty much sucked this time, but that’s not always gonna be the case.”

Amy’s eyes drop to the ground, because now she’s thinking about her argument with Lauren last night.

_“You’ll probably just get more upset if I tell you you’re overreacting, huh.”_

“I, um… I have to go,” she mumbles, reaching to get her phone out of her pocket.

“Of course you do,” Karma replies. “You wouldn’t want to keep Lauren waiting.”

Amy’s head snaps up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Karma says, but if she’s trying to sound sincere, it’s not working. “You two have been hanging out a lot lately; it’s great. I’m glad you have her.”

Amy shrugs. “And I’m glad you apparently have Shane now. I’ve seen you guys together all day—are you pulling a Liam Booker and trying to sleep with a gay guy?” She hates herself the second the words are out of her mouth, and by the look on her face, Karma isn’t all that happy about it either.

“I know I messed up,” she says finally, shaking her head, “but I also know what I do and don’t deserve.” She storms away without another word, leaving Amy standing by herself with a blank text message to Lauren open in her hand.

“Want to tell me what just happened?” Shane asks suddenly, appearing out of nowhere.

Amy jumps a little and has to stop herself from throwing her phone at him. “Jesus, are you just everywhere now?”

“Unimportant,” he says, looking more serious than she’s ever seen him. “That conversation was supposed to make progress happen, not end with Karma’s kicked-puppy face.”

“You were _listening_?”

“Also unimportant,” he repeats, “and for your information, our interactions have had nothing to do with my best friend’s paradoxical turn-ons.” He grips her by the shoulders. “Sweetie, she’s been talking with me about how to fix things with you.”

She searches his eyes for any sign of exaggeration or untruth and finds none, and now she sags under his hands. “I’m a terrible person,” she concludes, completely matter-of-fact.

“Not terrible. More like when you’re upset, you say things you don’t mean at the worst possible moment.”

“And that doesn’t make me a terrible person?”

“No,” he says, bringing her in for a hug, “It makes you a wonderfully flawed human being who realizes her mistakes and then apologizes for them before any irreversible damage is done.” He pats her on the shoulder blade and gives her a squeeze. “Though you might want to let her cool off first, in this particular instance.”

Amy sighs as they pull away, then glances at her phone again. “In the meantime…” she murmurs as she starts to type.

“In the meantime, what?”

“Nothing. I just have to, um, text Lauren about something.”

Shane tilts his head. “Well now I’m curious. Since when do you and”—he clears his throat—“Since when do you and Lauren text?”

She shrugs. “Since a few weeks ago. I was kind of a mess after my mom’s wedding, and she… y’know. She was there for me and stuff.”

“Wow, so the Tin Woman really does have a heart.” Amy gives him a look and he holds up his hands. “Okay, okay, I know, I’m sorry.” His eyes dip to her screen. “So, are you texting her a Karma update, or…?”

Amy swallows. “Not exactly.”

He rolls his eyes. “For the love of Icona Pop, what are you being so secretive about?”

“Nothing, okay? It’s nothing.” She ducks away from the arm he tries to put around her shoulder. “I have to go,” she says and starts walking back to the lunch table.

“You’re a terrible liar, Amy Raudenfeld,” he calls after her.

She flips him off without looking back.

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to spend the rest of the day waiting for Lauren reply to her “ **I’m an idiot** ” text.

By the time she gets home she’s about to jump out of her skin, because it doesn’t make any sense for a surprise appointment to keep someone from school all day, and every time she thinks about it she gets this gross feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she’d really like to confirm with somebody that she’s just being paranoid.

“…really appreciate you seein’ her today, Doc,” she hears Bruce say from the kitchen, and she freezes instead of heading upstairs. “I know we’re not really in your neck of the woods anymore, but you’ve always known what to do when she gets like this.”

Amy’s walking slowly toward his voice now, her heart pounding faster with each step she takes, and Farrah glances up from her cup of coffee with a pained expression on her face.

“Who’s he talking to on the phone?” Amy asks, her voice barely making it out of her throat, but her mom just fiddles with her wedding ring. “Where did they go today?”

Farrah takes a deep breath. “To a therapist she used to see, back in Dallas.”

Amy makes a weird noise that’s probably supposed to be a laugh. “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Amy…”

“How could you let him—?”

“ _Amy_ ,” she interrupts, and the rest of the words die in Amy’s mouth. “I told you he took her to an appointment,” Farrah says quietly, “not that I was happy about it.”

Amy shakes her head and grips the back of the kitchen chair hard. “She doesn’t need a shrink. She just needs someone to…” The end of the sentence disappears on her, like none of the words in her head are really what she wants to say, but Farrah nods.

“I know,” Farrah says, and her voice is gentle. “Quite frankly, I think she needs _you_.”

She swallows hard. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, it’s just that—lately you’ve been—” Farrah sighs and finally lifts her eyes to meet Amy’s. “You look at her like you used to look at Karma,” she explains. “And I don’t think she’s known a lot of people who can say the same.”

Something in Amy’s chest tightens and she glances toward the stairs before she can stop herself.

“She’s up in her room,” Farrah confirms pointedly. “Why don’t you go check on her?”

Amy nods and takes a step toward the foyer, then backtracks and leans over so she can kiss the top of her mom’s head. “Love you,” she mumbles and heads to the stairs, resisting the urge to take two at a time.

Lauren’s closed door has never looked so daunting as she raises her hand to knock, but then she has another idea; she goes across the hallway to her own room, then through the dark bathroom, and knocks gently on Lauren’s other door.

The silence she gets in response isn’t surprising.

“I’m an idiot,” she calls out, pressing her forehead against the door as she wonders how long she’ll be able to make herself wait before she decides to stop being courteous.

“Yes, you are,” Lauren mutters from behind her, and Amy whips around to find her lying in the bathtub with her feet propped up against the wall.

Amy flips on the lights. “What are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing?” she grumbles, pressing the side of her palm to her forehead like a visor. “Turn those off, I have a headache.”

Amy hits the switch again and kneels in front of the tub, folding her arms along the edge and resting her chin on top of her hands. “Are you okay?”

“I guess it depends on who you ask,” Lauren says with a shrug. “My dad says I’m acting confused and erratic… Dr. Conroy thinks the liberal agenda of my peers is poisoning my soul…”

“He seriously said that?”

“Does it sound like I’m joking?” snaps, but she mostly sounds tired.

Amy gives her a minute to breathe before speaking again. “I’m asking _you_.”

Lauren sighs. “I’m lying in a fucking bathtub.”

“Why is that, exactly?”

She doesn’t answer right away. “It’s neutral,” she says, then shakes her head. “This is so stupid. I should just tell you about the fucking pills.”

Amy shrugs. “You don’t have to.”

“So stupid,” Lauren repeats, her voice barely above a whisper, and there’s a beat of silence before she shouts “ _Fuck_ ,” making Amy jump a little. “Alright, look. I have this—”

“Lauren? Where are you, baby?” calls Bruce from the next room, and they only have a few seconds before the door is open and the lights are on again. “What are y’all up to in here?” he asks, his tone casual enough but his gaze a little too suspicious as he glances between them.

“Whatever your biggest fear is,” Lauren mutters, “it’s probably ten times worse than that.”

Bruce’s expression darkens. “Now, remember what we talked about today—”

“Oh my _god_ ,” she snaps, sitting up so she can swivel and face him, “We were just _talking_. You know, Dr. Conroy gave me that whole speech today about protecting myself from darkness, but I think you’re the one who needs to lighten up.”

He frowns at her. “Is that supposed to be some kinda joke?”

“I thought it was pretty funny,” Amy replies, sounding a lot more confident than she feels.

“Well, I think chit-chat time is over. You both should head to your rooms and get some homework done.”

Lauren cocks her head. “Was that an _official_ go-to-your-room, or more like a suggestion?”

He crosses his arms. “Since you’ve talked back to me twice now, I’d say it’s pretty god-dang official.”

Neither of them moves.

“Come on,” he says, nodding to them, “Up. _Now_.”

They roll their eyes in unison and grip the edge of the tub to get to their feet; Amy moves a little faster and takes Lauren’s hand to pull her up the rest of the way, and she’s not ready for the slight tremor she feels against her palm, or for how hard Lauren squeezes back.

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to keep pissing off her dad.

It’s the closest thing she has to a hobby right now, which is probably why it keeps happening; that, and because failure is pretty much impossible when it comes to turning his face purple or making him clench his jaw. But her headache has only gotten worse since he walked in on her and Amy in the bathroom (doing _nothing_ ), and she spends dinner trying to take deeper breaths as Bruce mutters on and on about attitude and respect and everyone else stays very, very quiet.

When the knot in her stomach gets so tight that she can’t make herself twirl another forkful of spaghetti, she pushes her chair away from the table. “May I be excused?”

“You barely touched your supper,” Bruce says, nodding at her plate.

“I’m not feeling very well.”

Farrah gives her a sympathetic look. “You go rest, honey. We’ll save the rest of your food in the fridge.”

“That means _rest_ , you hear?” he adds. “None of that Netflix or FaceTiming—you’re still grounded.”

“Darn,” Lauren mumbles under her breath, “There goes my _Sons of Anarchy_ binge-watch.” She leaves the kitchen before her dad has time to process the sarcasm and upon arriving to her room is fully prepared to flop dramatically onto her bed, but instead she pulls back her comforter and curls up between the sheets, willing her lungs to just _work_.

She dozes off for a while, or maybe just loses track of time. It’s hard to differentiate between minutes and hours when her mind is racing with way too many thoughts about how Tommy didn’t even bat an eyelash when she dumped him, and how much happier Lisbeth and Leila seem without her, and how she wishes her dad loved her the way Farrah loves Amy, and the look on Amy’s face last night when she explained how badly Lauren fucked up, and how she didn’t mean to fuck up, and how she doesn’t want to fuck up again but what if she does, and what if Amy’s just waiting for it to happen, what if she obliterated everything that’s happened since the wedding—

Her hands are shaking as she shoves her blankets aside and dives for the bottom drawer of her nightstand, all but tossing the tablet down her throat and then swallowing hard, like that’s all it will take for this bullshit to stop.

(She knows it’s not, which is why she’s already staring hard at the bathroom door.)

Her hand reaches for the knob as she considers trying to get this under control first, but hah, what if she _can’t_ , and she finally opens the door just wide enough so she has room to slip inside—

And then her foot hits something solid and she yelps, lunging for the light switch and finding Amy sitting on the floor with her back against the side of the tub. She’s cringing apologetically, which is good, but also: “Why the _fuck_ are you sitting on the floor in the dark?” Lauren demands, her chest heaving.

Amy shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve been debating whether to knock.”

“How long have you been sitting here?”

“Like, twenty minutes.” She pulls her legs into her chest now. “I was worried about you, but…” Amy trails off, chewing her bottom lip.

Lauren’s pulse is still way too fast. “But what?”

Amy thinks for a moment but then just shakes her head. “But nothing, I guess,” she says quietly, and her eyes search the tile floor for something. “I missed you today.”

“I’m sorry,” Lauren blurts.

Her eyes lift and she frowns. “What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault Bruce dragged you—”

“No, I’m sorry about what I said to your mom.” She mirrors Amy’s position at the other end of the tub so she’s less likely to have to look at her, but she can feel Amy’s eyes doing just that.

“You already apologized.”

“I’m apologizing again,” she snaps, hating the way the corner of her mouth is quivering. “I just, I don’t—I don’t want you to—” Her throat stops working and she tries to fold herself into an even tighter ball.

Amy opens and closes her mouth before speaking again, and her voice is quiet; maybe even a little scared. “Can I ask you something?”

Lauren’s heart is going to disintegrate.

“When you kiss me, do you mean it?”

She should, won’t, can’t look at her. “Every fucking time, okay?” she manages, and the silence that follows is one of the most painful she’s ever heard, but then she makes herself glance up and realizes that Amy is standing in front of her, offering a hand.

Lauren takes it, and this time when Amy pulls her to her feet, neither of them lets go. She lets herself be led to Amy’s room, where Amy lies back on her bed and brings Lauren down with her; but instead of the maneuver ending with a kiss, Lauren all but collapses against Amy’s chest and takes her first real breath of oxygen in hours.

It’s interesting, how neatly her head fits into the crook of Amy’s neck, and how her arm is kind of the perfect length to rest across Amy’s stomach, and how Amy’s not trying to hold her like she’s some pathetic piece of shit. Amy’s also not asking about the trembling in Lauren’s muscles or why her lungs are still working too hard, and Lauren likes that, because it lets her listen to Amy’s heartbeat, the pulses slow and steady and unlike just about anything else in her life.

Lauren listens, and Amy brushes her fingertips up and down Lauren’s spine, and something about the simple, gentle motions coaxes the words onto her tongue. “They’re for anxiety,” she whispers, and god, she sounds exhausted. “The pills.” Every inch of her body is on high-alert, waiting for Amy’s hand to stall or slow or hesitate, but it doesn’t.

“Okay.”

“It gets really bad when big changes happen.”

“Like your dad moving you to a new town full of strangers who have different beliefs than you.”

Lauren swallows and wets her lips. “And like my dad getting remarried. You’d think their engagement would’ve given me enough time to process, but nope, I still had to have a panic attack after the wedding.” Amy doesn’t say anything, and she takes a deep breath. “That’s why I was in the bathroom when you and Karma talked.”

There’s a stretch of silence before Amy mutters “Jesus.”

“Look, I get that it’s weird, okay? I don’t—”

“Hey,” Amy interrupts gently, “That wasn’t a wow-you’re-such-a-freak Jesus. That was an I-can’t-believe-you-helped-me-with-my-Karma-bullshit-when-you-were-going-through-that Jesus.”

“I’ve been dealing with it for years. You’d just gotten your heart broken for the first time.” Lauren lifts her shoulder a fraction. “Whatever.”

Amy lets out a long sigh. “Do you think my mom would ground me if I gave Shane a black eye tomorrow?”

“My dad definitely would.”

“Yeah, well, fuck him.” She can feel Amy’s hesitation. “So, like… what’s with him, anyways? If you’ve had stuff going on for so long, then why’s he so—?”

“He’s just never understood how to handle it. Or even understood it at all. My mom was always the one who helped me when it got really bad.” Lauren listens to Amy’s heartbeat again while she waits for more questions, but nothing comes, and for once she’s grateful for the silence. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

She feels Amy shake her head. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

“People just… people suck, they _always_ suck, and they keep leaving, or telling the whole school I have a drug problem, and—” She stops when Amy’s hand cups her cheek, the side of her thumb ghosting along the skin right below her eye, and somehow manages the energy to sit up just a little so she can look Amy in the eye and maybe understand why the hell she’s touching her like this.

“I’m not gonna leave,” Amy whispers so quietly that even in this empty room, the words still sound like they’re only meant for her.

Lauren doesn’t realize she’s crying until she tastes her own tears on Amy’s lips (also, they’re kissing now, apparently), and god bless Amy for not stopping to ask her what’s wrong or if she’s okay, because not having this mouth against hers would be way worse than any of the atrocities that have been happening in her head all night.

Amy’s fingers are in her hair again and Lauren’s are digging into Amy’s ribs and it’s like they’re both trying to get as close to each other as possible, as if their bodies being pressed tightly together isn’t nearly enough.

“You’re not shaking as much,” Amy murmurs against her lips before pressing a chain of kisses along her pulse point, and _oh_ , that’s different.

“Interesting,” she breathes, trying to keep track of all the different reasons why she’s practically panting now, and she decides she’s going to give Amy most of the credit. “Do that again.”

There’s a soft chuckle against her throat and Amy switches to the other side. “I have another question for you,” she asks between kisses. “Have you ever seen _All Cheerleaders Die_?”

“No,” Lauren manages. “Is it a documentary about a terminally ill cheer squad?”

“Mmm-mmm,” Amy hums as she finds Lauren’s lips again. “More like comedy-slasher about immortal lesbians who kill boys.” She pulls away for a moment and stares thoughtfully into space. “Well, okay, two of them are straight and one of them is bi, but the other two—”

Lauren gently covers Amy’s mouth with her palm. “What’s your point?” she asks, then removes her hand.

“It’s on Netflix.”

She considers this information, and the steadiness of her hands, and the fact that there’s nothing abnormal about her heartbeat or the way she’s breathing now, and kisses Amy on the cheek.

“Go get your computer.”

.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to start a movie so late at night.

But even if she’s a little offended that Lauren passed out before she got to watch Maddy have an orgasm in the middle of the school hallway, she likes the way Lauren shifts closer when she leans over to put her laptop on the floor.

“I’m not gonna leave, you idiot,” she whispers, and falls asleep to the sound of Lauren’s slow, steady breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important disclaimer: I don't purport to be any sort of expert on anxiety/panic disorders. My only knowledge comes from a few hours on Google, my own (very mild) experiences, and a little imagination. I apologize for any inaccuracies, whether big or small.
> 
> Another important note: have you seen All Cheerleaders Die? You need to see All Cheerleaders Die.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who accidentally wrote a final chapter that's double the length of all the others! Guess who had zero plans to write a smut scene but then did it anyways! Guess who's really sad this fic is over!
> 
> (One last shout-out to Ridakulous for being the best beta a Cooperfelder could ask for, and to everyone who's left a comment on any of the chapters. You guys fucking rock.)

She doesn’t mean to let the alarm go off for more than five seconds, but once she gets past the initial shock of suddenly being awake, the guitar riff kind of grabs hold of her and she finds herself listening to the whole chorus.

“I like this song,” she says to Amy, finally tapping the phone against her temple until Amy’s forehead crinkles and her eyes blink open.

She types in the password and the music goes silent, then she stretches and buries her face in the crook of Lauren’s neck. “S’on your mix,” she murmurs, letting out a sleepy sigh.

Lauren tries not to react to the puffs of hot breath against her skin. “Of course it is. Go shower or we’re both going to be late.”

“Fiiiiiiiine,” Amy whines and leans up for a kiss, but Lauren puts three fingers against her lips.

“No,” she says simply, but then Amy looks so hurt that something in her chest tightens. “Oh my god, relax. I don’t do morning breath.”

Amy studies her for a moment, then her expression shifts into something vaguely resembling a smirk; she ducks down to press her lips to Lauren’s throat instead, and then she’s out of bed before Lauren can do any one of a million stupid things to keep them both here just a little bit longer. “Cheater,” she calls after her, and when Amy glances back over her shoulder, her face hasn’t changed.

“Do you want to get through here first, or…?” she asks, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Lauren thinks for a long moment, and in the end she can’t stop her shoulder from shrugging. “I’m fine here.”

Now it’s less of a smirk and more of a genuine smile. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Bullshit,” she replies right before the door closes, and when the shower turns on she rolls over and burrows into Amy’s pillow, taking a deep breath in and out.

(Her hands are already shaking a little bit as she thinks about school, about eyes on her and mouths whispering about pills, and about what on earth she would do if they whispered about her and Amy instead.)

.

She doesn’t mean to be so antsy as they drive to school, but now that she’s fixed things with Lauren, all she can think about is all the Karma crap that’s still floating over her head.

It’s a conversation she’s not even a little bit ready to have—how to do you tell someone that you’re sorry for this one thing but still mad at them for all of these other things?—but she knows it’ll kill her if she says nothing, and she’s done having this extra weight to drag around.

She pulls into the school lot and turns off the engine, but doesn’t get out right away.

Lauren takes off her seatbelt. “What, do you have a big exam today or something?”

“Yeah. I have to apologize to Karma for being a dick even though she’s been an even bigger dick.”

“Have you considered just dropping the class?”

Amy nods slowly. “More than once.”

Lauren shifts so she’s facing Amy more directly. “What’s stopping you?”

“I just feel like…” She looks at Lauren. “It must get easier at some point, right?”

Lauren considers the question with a tilt of her head. “It might. But do you really want to work your ass off for a B-minus when you could find a new class that’s an easy A?”

“Hang on—please tell me you’ve seen that movie.”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Lauren snaps, “I’m trying to give you a pep talk.”

Amy just smiles a little bit. “I know,” she says, then takes a deep breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh. “I guess I’m just not sure if I want to give up so easily.”

“Give up so easily?” Lauren echoes. “You’ve been studying your whole fucking life for something that’s done _nothing_ for—okay, we’re dropping the metaphor. You,” she begins, holding her right hand at eye-level, “are here. Karma”—she holds her left hand somewhere below her chin—“is here. And yeah, maybe she needs you like all shitty people need someone to make them less shitty, but you do _not_ need her. And I’m not saying that because—” She cuts herself off, suddenly looking a little flustered.

“Because what?”

Lauren shakes her head to clear it. “Look. I’ve seen you two at your best, and overheard you at your worst, and honestly? She’s great when a Hallmark card could fix the problem and the worst when it matters most.” Her eyes are anywhere but Amy’s. “Don’t settle for someone who’s only there when it’s convenient.” She grabs her bag and opens the door. “We’re going to be late for class.”

“Unless I just skip mine,” Amy mutters, but she gets out of the car, hits the remote lock button, and sets off to find Karma anyways.

It doesn’t take her long; she’s waiting by Shane’s locker, just like Amy thought she might be, and the guarded expression on her face when she sees Amy approaching is just as expected.

“I’m sorry,” she says coldly, “I’m probably not allowed to stand here, right?”

Amy wets her lips and folds her arms over her chest. “I’m still really mad at you,” she begins, her voice quiet, “but not about that. What I said yesterday was stupid, and I’m sorry.”

Karma looks at her for a long moment, then nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Amy echoes, relieved that they’ve at least made it through that part of the conversation.

The corner of Karma’s mouth lifts just a little. “Well, now that we’ve had our _Fault In Our Stars_ moment… Can I say something?”

Amy shrugs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Promise to hear me out? No interrupting or blowing up at me until I’m finished?”

“I promise.”

Karma takes a deep breath. “I was an idiot… I _am_ an idiot. I spent the last few weeks thinking I could just do whatever I wanted, because if I was happy, then that must’ve meant everything was fine.” She blinks as her eyes start to get glassy. “I put you through a ton of shit, and didn’t pay any attention to how much it was hurting you. You’re my best friend,” she says thickly, “and I’m so sorry. For everything. And I know it’s gonna take more than just words to fix any of this,” Karma continues, “and that’s totally fair. I just… want you to know that I’m ready. To give you time and space, but also to work on this, if that’s what you want.”

She opens her mouth and closes it again, because Lauren’s words from before are floating around in her head and she still hasn’t decided if she’s ready to recommit to this whole thing yet, or ever. But then a thought drifts to the front of everything else, an absolutely absurd thought, and her heart is suddenly pounding a lot faster than it was a second ago.

“I’m gonna tell you something,” she says, sounding almost out of breath, “and if you react the way I really hope you will, then we can talk about working on everything else.”

.

She doesn’t mean to unofficially walk in on their conversation—maybe she was sort of worried that Amy’s resolve wouldn’t last and she’d cave under Karma’s stupid sad eyes that might as well include Sarah McLachlan playing softly in the background, and maybe she wanted to be prepared to have a follow-up chat with one or both of them, just in case—but whatever, she’s standing around the corner from where they’re talking and her first class is only a few yards away, so she might as well stay put.

“I just… want you to know that I’m ready. To give you time and space, but also to work on this, if that’s what you want.”

Okay, so she missed the good part. But Karma sounds genuine enough, so—

“I’m gonna tell you something,” Amy says, her tone heavy with hesitation, and Lauren’s ears perk up. “And if you react the way I really hope you will, then we can talk about working on everything else.”

Lauren’s eyes widen. “She wouldn’t,” she mutters under her breath.

“Okay,” Karma replies carefully, followed by one of the most loaded silences Lauren’s ever experienced. “Wait, before you say anything. You’re not… you’re not hooking up with Liam, are you?” she asks like every single word is painful for her to say, and Lauren’s eyes nearly roll out of her head. “Because I’ve heard stories about people hating each other, but then it turns into all this sexual tension, and—”

“Oh my god, no,” Amy groans, “Please stop. No, it’s—no. Not Liam. Never, ever Liam.” She pauses. “But you’re, um. You _are_ kind of half-right.”

Lauren’s mouth is dry. “ _Amy_ ,” she hisses, “What are you _doing_?”

“So… what exactly am I kind of half-right about?”

She can actually _hear_ Amy’s deep breath. “It’s not—it’s not Liam, okay? It’s… Lauren,” she manages, and Lauren’s stomach drops at the sound of her own name. “We’re, like… It’s—um. I actually don’t even know what we’re doing, to be honest—”

“Wait, slow down. You. And Lauren. Are…?”

Amy clears her throat. “Yeah. A little bit.”

There’s a pause. “Oh my god.”

“I know, okay? Look, I don’t really even know what’s happening—I doubt she does, either—but it’s… it’s _something_ , and in case word gets out like it always does…” Amy sighs. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”

Lauren convinces her trembling hand to get her phone out of her pocket so she can try to be a little less obvious about the eavesdropping, but there could be a text from her dad on the screen saying “I’m sorry I’ve been a douchebag, honey” and she probably wouldn’t notice. Her thoughts (and her pulse) are all over the place as she waits for Karma’s response and wonders what the fallout would be if she sucker-punched Amy at some point today.

“Wow,” Karma mutters finally, and Lauren all but collapses against the brick wall. “That’s just about the last thing I expected you to—well, I guess now that you’ve said it, it does explain a lot.”

“Fuck,” Lauren mouths to herself as she scrolls up and down her list of contacts like she has some kind of purpose.

“What d’you mean, it explains a lot?”

She’s going to sucker-punch the both of them, twice.

Karma doesn’t answer right away. “The other day at lunch, she confronted me about… some things. About myself, about you, about us. And I didn’t really get why she was so protective of you all of a sudden, but… now it makes sense.”

“Oh,” Amy mumbles, and Lauren hopes it’s thoughtful and not upset, but God knows she’ll worry about it until she finds out for sure.

“I mean, I’m glad she did. It was the wake-up call that convinced me to talk to Shane about everything--”

“And then I was a total bitch about it,” Amy groans.

“Hey, you said you wouldn’t interrupt me,” Karma says, and there’s just a little bit of playfulness to her tone.

Lauren swallows hard and takes a deep breath, because maybe she doesn’t need to hit Amy after all.

“So… you’re cool with—I mean, not that I need your permission,” Amy says, catching herself, “but—”

“I get it,” Karma assures her, “And yeah, it’s—a little confusing. But if it’s what makes you happy, then you have my unflinching support.”

Okay, she’s a little annoyed that Karma is also no longer deserving of violence.

“Thank you,” Amy says, and the relief is transparent in her voice. “And could you, um… could you not tell anyone else? We’re both just… really done with the spotlight, right now.”

“My lips are sealed.”

The bell rings almost directly above her and she jumps but by some miracle doesn’t drop her phone, and she’s barely caught her breath when Mrs. Chen arrives to unlock the door.

“Good morning, Lauren!” she greets, and Lauren has to all but physically restrain herself from shushing her teacher.

She plasters on a smile and slips into the classroom as quickly as possible, then refuses to look up from her desk until the door is closed once more.

 _“Oh,”_ Amy’s voice repeats in her head, alternating between disappointment and hurt and anger until she can’t remember what it really sounded like, but when her hand gets so shaky that she can’t take notes anymore, she pushes the word out of her head and focuses instead on two others.

_“It’s **something**.”_

(She spends the rest of the period thinking about Somethings, and how their Something feels a little more like an Everything.)

.

She doesn’t mean to have the second half of that conversation, really, but between poor impulse control and Karma’s apologies becoming an avalanche of reminders of how much Amy misses talking to her, confiding in her… well, it happened.

But now that she’s told one person what’s been going on behind closed doors these last few days, she kind of wants to do it again. She has an idea, and it’s probably an awful one, but honestly?

It doesn’t feel right, not telling Shane.

After third period she positions herself in the hallway she knows he has to take to get to French, and when he walks by with his eyes glued to his phone as per usual, she grabs him by the elbow and pulls him into the supply closet.

“Hey, careful with the Ralph Lauren,” Shane whines, rubbing his arm once she lets go. “Also, you know I’m gay, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “I have to tell you something. Three guesses as to what it is.”

He studies her thoughtfully. “You’re getting an undercut.”

“No.”

“Okay, good, because that’s becoming an epidemic.” Now he’s stroking his chin. “You’ve finally admitted to yourself that One Direction is so much more than just a boy band.”

She raises an eyebrow. “No.”

Shane pouts. “Damn. Um… I don’t know, you’re dropping out of school to be Ellen Page’s girlfriend.”

“Really?” she deadpans.

He shrugs. “What do you want from me? I thought those were all totally valid theories.” He frowns and rubs his arms like he’s getting cold. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he demands.

“This is, like, the most ironic conversation I’ve ever had. How is it that when I’m not secretly making out with someone you assume I am, but now that I _am_ secretly making out with someone, you haven’t figured it out?”

Shane blinks at her. “ _Pardonnez-moi_? _Avec qui_?” Amy just gives him a blank look. “Tell me everything,” he hisses, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her a few inches closer.

She clears her throat. “Um. Well, it’s only been going on for a week—”

“Duration is only the second most important piece of information. Who’s the lucky girl?”

Amy takes a breath and licks her bottom lip, but her hesitation makes his eyes narrow.

“…Lucky _boy_?”

“No,” she answers tightly, “definitely a girl.”

“Do I know her?”

She nods. “Mmm-hmm.”

He looks about ready to punch her. “Are you planning to actually _tell_ me, or—?”

“It’s Lauren,” she blurts, and his grip on her shoulders tightens.

“It’s Lauren,” he repeats, like what she’s said doesn’t make sense.

She swallows hard. “Yep.”

“Cooper.”

“Yes.”

He sticks his hand out to the side. “About yay tall… recently acquired hair dye job…”

“You _know_ who the fuck I’m talking about,” she snaps, smacking him in the shoulder.

“ _Ow_ ,” he grunts, rubbing at the spot of impact. “So what you’re telling me is that you started hooking up with your evil stepsister over the weekend?”

She smacks him again. “She’s _not_ evil, a-and we haven’t gone past kissing—”

“But she _is_ your stepsister.”

She hesitates. “I know.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a huff. “Okay, safe space, let’s talk about this.”

“We have to talk about it?” she asks with a grimace.

“Sweetie, you just tried a relationship with your best friend and it almost destroyed you both. Do you really want to give love another go with the resident antichrist-in-sheep’s-clothing?”

“God,” she snaps, “do you not have a filter, or are you just altogether soul-lacking?  There’s a reason why I keep telling you to leave her alone—it’s because she doesn’t deserve _any_ of the bullshit you say about her. She’s a human being, Shane, and I don’t understand why you refuse to treat her like one.”

He’s looking at her hard. “You’re really serious about this.”

“I am,” she confirms. “Look. What I had with Karma wasn’t a relationship; it was each of us pretending to be something we’re not. It was dishonest and fucked up, and this thing with Lauren… it’s the complete opposite.” He doesn’t respond, so she keeps going. “And I know you have your way of doing things, but I’m not wasting these next few years on hookups and bad stereotypes.”

“I do _not_ —”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she interrupts. “I may be a lesbian, or bi, or… whatever, but I can’t do SYZZR or gay bars. It’s not me.”

Shane nods slowly. “Fair enough.”

She sets her jaw and looks him in the eye. “I deserve to be happy.”

“Amen, sister,” he replies with a proud smile, and brings her in for a tight hug. “Now why don’t we get out of here before either one of us makes a closet joke we regret.”

“You go first,” she says, nodding to the door, “We’ll stagger it like the cool kids do.”

“It’s been an honor,” he says with a wink before vanishing into the hallway.

She counts to ten before opening the door again, but she’s barely a step over the threshold when there’s a flash of pink and a pair of small hands pushing her back inside.

Her back hits a wall and she hears an overturned plastic bucket being moved across the floor, and then Lauren’s face is right in front of hers as she leans forward with her hands planted on the bricks above each of Amy’s shoulders.

“Are you mad that I talked to Karma?” Lauren asks, breathing maybe a little heavier than she should be.

“What? No.” Amy searches her eyes. “Wait, how do you know that I know you talked to Karma?”

She doesn’t answer right away. “I sort of overheard you telling her about us.”

A burst of guilt bolts down Amy’s spine. “Are _you_ mad that _I_ talked to Karma?”

“No,” she says after a moment.

Amy sighs in relief. “Okay, good,” she says, then winces. “I also told Shane. And I’m really sorry if—I don’t want to stress you out or make anything worse—” Lauren’s lips cut her off, but she pulls away again. “It’s just, I hate secrets, and—” There’s a tongue brushing against hers now, and wow, this new angle. “This height thing is—”

“Really interesting,” Lauren finishes for her between kisses.

“Yeah,” Amy breathes, and when Lauren’s mouth vanishes, she opens her eyes to find her moving the bucket back to its original spot.

“If you make a closet joke, I will fucking kill you,” she says before slipping out the door, and Amy once again finds herself alone with the boxes of paper and broken pencil sharpeners.

She counts to ten, opens the door, and heads to her next class.

“Closet jokes,” she mutters under her breath.

.

She doesn’t mean to jump Amy in the supply closet, or to save her a seat at lunch, and maybe Amy doesn’t mean to sit next to her rather than across the table, but whatever, these things happen.

“What, no potato salad today?” she asks as Amy unwraps her sandwich. “Do you want me to walk you to the guidance office so you can talk to someone about it?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Amy replies without a single trace of anger or irritation in her voice.

Lauren watches her split the sandwich open completely and begin rearranging its insides. “I feel like I’m watching a really low-budget spinoff of _Grey’s Anatomy_.”

“They never pay attention to their ratios,” she murmurs. “Too many pickles in the middle. You gotta spread them out.”

Lauren’s halfway through an eye roll when she spots Shane walking toward them, and she can’t decide if she wants to shift closer to Amy or put a few more inches between them.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, nodding to the wide-open bench in front of him.

She sees Amy glance at her out of the corner of her eye and sighs tightly. “The Bible says lying is a sin, so I’m spiritually obligated to tell you it’s not.”

He shrugs. “You could always just ignore that part. My Uncle Rick only pays attention to the bits that say he can be a homophobic douchebag.”

“Your uncle’s an asshole and you’re blocking my sunlight. Just fucking sit.” Shane obeys, and Lauren smiles sweetly. “Good boy.”

“Shit,” Amy mutters, “I have to go ask Sheila what kind of nuts are in these brownies. I’ll be right back.”

She’s gone before Lauren can even attempt to convince her to not leave her alone with Shane, and the moment Amy’s out of earshot, he leans forward and folds his hands under his chin.

“So.”

Lauren just stares at him.

“You and Amy.”

She carefully removes the cap from her water and takes a sip. “Did you have a question, or are you just going to stick with sentence fragments?”

“You know, now that you mention it, I do have a question. Are you really under the impression that you can get away with this?”

“Get away with what?”

He takes a pear out of his bag and bites off a large chunk. “Whatever it is you’re planning,” he replies around his mouthful of fruit, “I’m gonna figure out your evil scheme, and ensure that you don’t harm a single hair on that girls’ head.”

Something in the pit of Lauren’s stomach erupts, and suddenly she has a white-knuckle grip on the neck of her water bottle. “So that’s what this is about, huh? You acting like you’re some knight in shining armor who’s going to swoop in and save the day?”

He “Mm-hmm”s into another bite of pear and she reaches across the table, wrapping her fingers around the tie tucked into his sweater and yanking until their faces are only an inch apart.

“Let me ask _you_ something, Ryan Seacrest. Where were you when she convinced herself it was a good idea to keep tolerating her fake girlfriend’s bullshit? Where were you when she agreed to the single most fucked-up threesome proposal in the history of mankind? Or when Karma broke her heart at the wedding and she drank enough champagne to think having hate-sex with Liam would solve her problems?”

Shane’s eyes get big. “Amy slept with Liam?”

“No, she _didn’t_ ,” Lauren growls, “because _I_ intercepted the Titanic before it could hit the iceberg, since her so-called best friend was too busy trying to get into a celibate boy’s pants.”

He starts to pout even as his face reddens. “I was lonely and he was hot and perfect.”

“Yeah, and Amy was _tanking_. But that obviously wasn’t as important as seducing someone who couldn’t be more out of your league.”

Shane swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” She releases her hold and he all but collapses back onto the bench, then hurriedly fixes his tie.

When he’s breathing normally again, he looks at her with much softer eyes. “I stand corrected,” he says with a shrug. “You have my blessing.”

“You can shove your blessing up your ass.”

“Well, technically you can’t just _shove_ it,” he replies, picking up his pear again, “You have to kind of ease it in. And use lots of lube,” he adds, pointing at her.

“Oh my _god_ ,” she groans, doubling over until her forehead is pressed against the tabletop.

The air beside her stirs and there’s a beat of silence.

“Hey, are you okay?” Amy’s voice asks softly, and there’s a gentle pressure on her lower back.

“Well, I’m not dead,” she mumbles to the table, “So there’s that.”

Amy’s hand hasn’t moved. “Jeez, what did you do to her, Shane? I was barely gone for two minutes.”

“I made an anal sex joke.”

 

She hears a laugh, and then Amy’s voice is right next to her ear. “Do you want me to walk you to the guidance office so you can talk to someone about it?”

Lauren turns her head to look at Amy. “Go fuck yourself,” she whispers.

“God, you guys are already gross.”

Amy’s trying to hold back a smile, and yep, she might have to agree with Shane just this once.

“What the _hell_ is your problem?”

They both sit up at the sound of Karma’s very loud, very angry voice as she storms up to their table, glaring at Amy like she’s trying to set her on fire with just her eyes.

“I didn’t realize I only had one,” Amy replies, apparently not even a little bit unnerved.

“Cut the bullshit, okay? I know what you did to Liam.”

Lauren exchanges glances with Shane, who appears to be just as clueless as she is.

“Oh, that,” Amy says, chuckling under her breath.

Karma crosses her arms. “Yeah, _that_. I’m just a little confused, because the last time I checked, you and I were fine and you weren’t speaking to him at all. What the hell were you thinking?”

Shane leans toward Amy. “What’s she talking about?”

Amy shrugs, still looking Karma right in the eye. “I kicked Liam in the balls a little while ago.”

“You _what_?” Shane and Lauren say in unison.

She ignores them. “And for the record, it had nothing to do with us. It was about solidarity.”

The word echoes around Lauren’s head and her jaw slowly drops.

Karma’s shaking her head. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“I know the idea of something not being all about you is hard to digest,” Amy replies, “but I really hope you can find it in you to take my word for it.”

Karma takes a steadying breath and shrugs, though her posture is still defensive. “If it wasn’t about you and me, then what was it about?”

That particular question makes Amy pause and glance at Lauren, maybe without meaning to, and something changes in Karma’s expression.

“Of course,” she says quietly, then louder: “Of _course_ it was about your new girlfriend.”

Lauren hates the way she says the last two words, and Amy doesn’t seem to like it much more. “What, does that mean you’re my old girlfriend? That’s so weird, since we never actually _dated_.”

Karma shrinks a little. “So are we not done fighting about that, then?” she asks quietly. “This morning I thought we were making progress.”

“Yeah, well, this morning you were acting pretty much the opposite of how you are now.”

She’s chewing the inside of her cheek now as she looks to Shane, maybe for help, but he’s still staring in awe at Amy; she makes eye contact with Lauren for a fraction of a second before her gaze drops to the ground. “You’re right,” she mumbles, “I’m sorry.” She opens her mouth again like she has more to say, but instead she turns and heads back across the quad then disappears around a corner.

Shane has been watching her leave, but then he faces Amy again with wide eyes. “ _Khaleesi_ ,” he whispers with pure reverence.

Lauren reaches behind her to Amy’s hand, moves it to rest on the bench between them, then laces their fingers together.

Shane sees the movement and shakes his head. “Literally, so gross.”

.

She doesn’t mean for the drive home to be so quiet.

Usually she blasts music she knows Lauren will make a fuss over, or they argue about an episode of _Glee_ , but today they’re both silent until she pulls into the driveway.

“What happened with Liam?” Lauren asks, and her tone is forced, like she’s been working up the nerve to say these words since they left the parking lot; maybe she has.

Amy turns off the engine and fiddles with the keys. “He found me at my locker and said he’d heard about your ‘problem,’ and recommended a rehab center his cousin went to once.”

“So you kicked him in the balls?”

“No. I asked him if he’d heard about the pills from Shane and he said yes, so I told him that Shane is like the Wikipedia of Hester High and he should find more official sources of information before he believes anything.” She sighs. “And _then_ I kicked him in the balls.”

“Think Principal Penelope called your mom?”

Amy shrugs. “I’m not sure. If she still thinks he’s the reason Karma and I broke up, maybe she’ll look the other way, if not praise me during tomorrow morning’s announcements.”

“I have to be smarter about my targets,” Lauren mutters.

“Nah,” Amy replies and gives Lauren a quick kiss on the cheek. “We should get inside before they accuse us of more debauchery.”

They get out of the car and head up the walkway, and as Amy reaches for the doorknob, she notices a dark gray BMW parked across the street.

“They didn’t mention anything about company last night, did they?”

“I don’t think—” Lauren starts, then cuts off in midsentence when she glances over her shoulder to see for herself. “No,” she breathes, “he wouldn’t.”

Amy freezes halfway across the threshold. “He wouldn’t what? Who are you—?”

Lauren shoves past her and stops in her tracks a few feet into the living room, and Amy’s questions die on her lips when she sees Farrah and Bruce on the couch, and a man she doesn’t recognize sitting in the adjacent armchair.

“Hello, Lauren,” he greets with a kindness that sounds way too practiced, and a tiny ball of dread starts to grow in the pit of Amy’s stomach.

“Daddy,” Lauren says quietly, “What’s going on?”

The man crosses his left leg neatly over his right. “Your father is concerned that yesterday’s session may not have been as effective as we’d hoped. We’d really like to have another conversation, if that’s okay.”

“Amy, would you mind givin’ us some privacy?” Bruce asks pointedly.

“Yeah, actually, I would.”

Dr. Conroy looks at her thoughtfully. “So you’re Amy,” he observes.

She swallows hard. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s alright, sweetie,” Farrah assures her with a tight smile, “You go get started on your homework. It’ll just be a few minutes.”

She shakes her head slowly, then looks at Lauren, trying to gauge how terribly this is going to end, but Lauren’s expression gives her nothing; she turns and heads up the stairs and slams her bedroom door behind her, hoping Lauren knows how hard it just was for her to walk away.

It’s even harder to stay put now that she’s both blind and deaf to whatever’s happening downstairs. She perches on the foot of her bed and her posture is rigid as her knee bounces up and down, her ears straining to hear voices or footsteps or literally any proof that everything is going to be okay, because her heart is about to break out of her ribcage and she’s not sure how much more abuse her cardiovascular system can handle.

She’s this close to storming back downstairs when she hears someone coming up to the second floor, and she waits for a door slam or for a knock on her own door, but nothing comes and soon she’s on her feet. Her steps are slow as she makes her way through the bathroom, and in the heavy silence she can just barely make out a few vague, muffled noises on the other side of the door.

“Lauren?” she calls out and knocks twice, but gets no response. Her hand reaches for the doorknob like it’s a live grenade and she slowly opens the door, then lets out a breath of relief when she sees Lauren crouched next to her nightstand. “Hey, what happened down there?”

If Lauren hears her, she doesn’t acknowledge it, and now Amy can hear her muttering as she searches for something in the bottom drawer.

“Are you—?”

Lauren yanks out the drawer completely and overturns it on the floor, her hands shaking visibly as she spreads the contents over the carpet. “I can’t find them,” she breathes, “They’re not here.” She begins tearing through the other drawers, “Why aren’t they here”s pouring from her mouth over and over again, and at this point she’s practically wheezing.

Amy comes closer and drops to her knees beside her. “What’s not here?”

“He took them,” she whispers. “He fucking took them, they’re supposed to be right _here_.” She jabs her finger into the bottom of one of the drawers and sucks in a ragged breath. “Why would he take them?” she croaks.

Amy’s mouth is dry. “Your pills,” she manages. “He took your pills.”

Lauren lets out a small sob. “Why would he do that?” she breathes, pushing her hair out of her face with both hands as her lungs heave. “Why would he—why would he do that?”

“Hey, shhhh,” Amy whispers, putting her hand gently on Lauren’s back, “Just try to breathe—”

“I _can’t_ ,” Lauren snaps, doubling over so her palms are pressed into the floor. “You don’t”—she manages a gulp of oxygen—“You don’t under—I _can’t_.”

Several thousand alarms are going off throughout Amy’s body, and she glances around the room like a solution will magically appear; her eyes land on the doorway to the bathroom. “Can you walk?”

Lauren thinks for a beat before nodding, then lets Amy wrap her own arm tightly around her waist and pull her to her feet, and together they stumble into the next room until Amy deposits her on the edge of the tub. She kneels in front of Lauren, cupping her cheeks and searching her eyes for any sign of calm as Lauren’s skin burns beneath her fingertips. Amy begins to pull away again, but then Lauren’s hands are clamped tightly around hers.

“I’m not gonna leave,” Amy says quietly, “I promise.” Lauren doesn’t look convinced but still lets her go, and Amy gets back to her feet so she can close the doors and turn off the lights, then returns to her previous position. “What can I do?”

Lauren’s breathing is still way too heavy and her eyes are unfocused. “Get in,” she manages, nodding when Amy glances at the tub and then back to her.

Amy doesn’t bother questioning it and climbs right in, and she’s just settled back against the wall when Lauren lowers herself into the tub as well, curling up with her head resting on Amy’s chest, and only now does Amy realize that Lauren’s entire body is shaking.

She tucks Lauren’s hair behind her ear and begins brushing her fingertips up and down her back like she did last night, but still feels completely useless as she listens to Lauren all but hyperventilate against her. “What happened down there?” she whispers, not entirely positive she wants to know the answer.

“Dad’s been researching Christian boarding schools,” Lauren mutters, and her voice is shaking almost as much as she is. “Thinks Austin isn’t good for me.”

Amy’s insides turn to ice. “He wants to send you away?”

“Too many bad influences here, apparently,” she says, curling up a little tighter, and takes a fistful of Amy’s shirt like she’s afraid of what might happen if she doesn’t hold on.

“He can’t do that. My mom wouldn’t let him.”

Lauren doesn’t reply right away. “She was pretty quiet the whole time.”

Amy thinks about their conversation yesterday and hope surges through her chest. “She knows there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Lauren’s throat makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a laugh, but it’s quickly lost in her erratic breathing.

She leans down a bit so she can whisper right into Lauren’s ear. “There’s _nothing_ wrong with you.”

“Lauren?” Bruce calls out with a few loud knocks on the door. “Are you in there?”

“Give us a minute,” Amy calls back, maybe a little more harshly than she means to, and her arm tightens protectively around Lauren.

There’s a heavy beat of silence. “Just makin’ sure you’re okay.”

Lauren makes her noise-that-might-be-a-laugh again. “Interesting,” she pants.

“She’s fine,” Amy says, trying to keep her voice from rising any more. “Just give us a minute.” She loosens her hold again and goes back to tracing patterns along Lauren’s spine. “How long does this usually last?”

Lauren tries to take a deep breath. “Depends on the trigger,” she manages. “If I take the pills. If I’m alone.” Her grip on Amy’s t-shirt gets impossibly tighter.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

She shakes her head a little against Amy’s chest. “No,” she whispers, still sounding way too breathless, “everything you’re doing is stupidly perfect.”

Something in Amy’s chest tightens, but not in the worst way.

“Shut,” Lauren pants, “the fuck up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I don’t care.”

Amy’s resisting a smile as she presses a light kiss to the top of Lauren’s head, but the smile vanishes when there’s another knock at the door. “I said she’s _fine_ —”

The door opens but it’s Farrah who appears, and there’s a glass of water in her hand. She sets it on the edge of the tub, and if she’s bothered by what she sees, she doesn’t show it. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?” she says gently, and when she pauses when she reaches the doorway again. “Those brochures will be in the garbage by morning,” she promises, then closes the door behind her so carefully that it almost doesn’t make noise.

“I’d say I told you so,” Amy murmurs, brushing her fingertips through Lauren’s hair now, “but now’s probably not a good time.”

“Probably not,” Lauren says, but her voice doesn’t sound quite as strained anymore, and she slowly sits up and reaches for the glass of water. Her hand is shaking as she drinks, but the rest of her seems to be reasonably steady.

Amy watches her put the glass back on the edge of the tub. “How’re you feeling?”

She shrugs a little. “Everything is still too heavy, and I might throw up at any second, but other than that… better.”

Amy leans forward, maybe just for the sake of being close to her again. “Better is good.”

“We’re not about to have a moment in the fucking bathtub, are we?” Lauren asks, and her breathing is less erratic now.

“Why are you assuming I want to kiss you or something? Maybe my back is sore.”

“Because you _always_ want to kiss me,” she says flatly, like it’s obvious; and well, maybe it is.

“You’re the one who jumped me in the supply closet today.”

Lauren shrugs again. “I had to ask you a question.”

Amy arches an eyebrow. “With your tongue?”

“The tongue happened _after_ , moron.”

She doesn’t miss Lauren’s eyes dip to her mouth for a split second. “You can do it, you know.”

Lauren’s practically glaring now. “Do what?”

“Go ahead, seriously.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Amy murmurs, leaning forward just a fraction more, and then she’s being pulled by the shirt collar until their lips are pressed together and Lauren’s hot breath is in her mouth.

(The hand gripping her shirt is steady, and she smiles into the next kiss.)

.

She doesn’t mean to walk in on Farrah and Bruce’s conversation—honestly, she probably deserves an eavesdropping award at this point—but there’s no point in bringing her empty glass all the way back upstairs again, and so she waits.

“I’m still not so sure,” Bruce grumbles as he dries a plate and puts it in the dish rack.

Farrah sighs. “You know, Bruce, I’ve been tryin’ to figure out a way to tell you this…” She’s scrubbing the next plate a lot harder than necessary. “Honey, you’re full of shit,” she says, her tone absurdly polite.

He turns toward her and plants his hand on his hip. “Pardon?”

“I know you just want what’s best for her, but she does _not_ need a Christian boarding school.” She turns off the faucet, wipes her hands with a dishtowel, and cups his cheek. “Bruce, she needs you to let her be a teenager.”

“But—”

“No buts, Mister,” she interrupts, shifting her hand so it’s covering his mouth. “I know she’s your baby girl, but if you don’t let her grow up, she’s gonna do it without you.”

He exhales heavily and reaches up to take her wrist, then kisses her palm as he removes her hand from his mouth. “I’m no good at dealing with this stuff,” he mutters. “How is she ever gonna trust me again?”

“Giving me back my pills would be a good start,” Lauren says, officially entering the kitchen now, and Farrah takes her empty glass without batting an eyelash. “Where are they?”

“Look, I did some research and all the websites said that side-effects could be confusion, a-and impaired judgment… You weren’t thinkin’ straight, and I thought—”

“Do you think maybe you could’ve checked with me about that, first?” She looks him square in the eye. “ _I’m_ the one who’s taking them, and I know what’s a side-effect and what’s life. Where are they?”

His jaw works for a moment, but then he nods toward the stairs. “Our bathroom closet,” he answers quietly. “Top shelf.”

She takes a deep breath and stands on her tip-toes so she can kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she says, then heads upstairs to relocate the pills back to her nightstand drawer where they belong.

(The shelf is too high, and Amy has to get them for her.)

.

She doesn’t mean to have to smother a laugh during dinner, but when her mom asks her how school was today and not about Liam Booker’s physical wellbeing, she exchanges glances with Lauren and tries her best to turn the noises in her throat into a cough.

“School was great,” she says after a quick sip of water, “I had an exam I was really nervous about, but I think I aced it.”

Lauren rolls her eyes through Farrah’s “Honey, that’s _wonderful_ ,” but Amy doesn’t give one single shit.

.

She doesn’t mean to almost collide with Amy in the bathroom doorway.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Lauren hisses when the door swings open just as she’s about to pull the knob. “What do you want?”

Amy frowns. “ _You’re_ the one who’s at _my_ door. What do _you_ want?”

She’s not entirely sure, is the thing. “Just wondering if you want your shirts back,” is the first answer that pops into her head.

“Nah, it’s fine. You can keep them.”

Lauren nods once. “Okay then,” she replies, then clears her throat and crosses her arms. “So, what did _you_ want?”

“How do you know I even want anything? Maybe I just need to use the bathroom.” Lauren gives her a look. “Fine, I did have a thing to—um,” she mumbles, scratching the back of her neck. “I was just wondering… did you want to try watching that movie again? Since you fell asleep last night.”

Lauren considers her proposal. “Let me change first,” she says, then goes back to her room and switches her t-shirt and jeans for a looser t-shirt and the smallest pair of pajama shorts she owns. When she returns, Amy’s already switched her lights to theater mode and is plugging her laptop’s power cord into an outlet; she glances up at the sound of Lauren closing the door behind her, and her eyes’ slow bottom-to-top scan of Lauren looks very, very unintentional.

She starts to say something but immediately chokes on her own oxygen, and it’s not until she clears her throat that she finally gets the words out. “D’you, um, want to start over, or skip through the parts you remember?” she asks, staring hard at her laptop screen.

“How many times have we made out, now? You don’t have to pretend you’re not looking.”

Amy swallows hard and eventually her gaze drifts back to Lauren, and after a long moment she rounds the bed until she’s standing in front of her. “This is so fucking weird,” she murmurs.

“What is?”

“Being allowed to want something.” She wets her lips. “Someone.”

Lauren’s heart is pounding, and it has nothing to do with the pills she hasn’t taken today. “You can do it, you know.”

“Do what?” Amy manages.

Lauren takes a step closer. “Go ahead,” she says quietly, taking Amy’s hands and placing them at her own hips. “Seriously.” She lets go, leaving Amy to make the move; it takes her a moment, but then her fingers grip the hem of Lauren’s shirt and soon she’s pulling it slowly up until Lauren has to lift her arms out of the way.

And then it’s off, and Amy lets the shirt fall to the floor, and Lauren honestly can’t tell if Amy’s breathing right now.

“Shit,” she whispers. “Like, the good kind of shit.”

“I would hope so. Now what’re you going to do about it?”

Amy sucks in a breath and reaches out again, ghosting her fingertips along Lauren’s ribcage before fully pressing her palms against Lauren’s skin. “I have a list.”

Lauren tries to ignore the goosebumps erupting all over her stomach. “Does the list include you taking _your_ shirt off?”

“Um. No, it was mostly—”

“Then it’s a stupid list,” she mutters and pulls at the cloth until Amy lifts her own arms up (and eventually takes over, because height differences are fucking stupid), then surges forward and presses their mouths and torsos together until all that matters is lips and tongues and body heat and Amy’s arms wrapped around her lower back and her feet suddenly off the floor and the room spinning—

And then a soft mattress is below her, and Amy is above her, and she’s pretty sure Amy’s laptop just fell off the bed, but that’s not important.

Amy’s mouth is doing that thing to her neck again, lips and tongue and teeth dancing along her pulse point… but oh, then she moves to Lauren’s chest, and _oh_ , now it’s her abdomen, and she’s finding she has a lot of favorite places, apparently.

The lips return to her own but they’re slower this time, and just when she’s about to ask if something’s wrong, she feels Amy’s hand drift to her waistband.

“Is this okay?” Amy breathes between kisses.

Lauren considers the myriad of sarcastic replies on her tongue, but decides they use too much oxygen, too many syllables, and instead goes with a simple “ _Yes_.”

Amy’s hand continues its descent, her fingertips slipping beneath Lauren’s shorts and then her underwear, and both of their mouths stall with silent gasps when Amy reaches the wetness between Lauren’s legs.

“Let me know if I—”

“Mm-hmm.”

There’s a short moment of hesitation, but then there’s _pressure_ , and two of Amy’s fingers circling that one spot a few times before they’re suddenly inside, and Lauren hates that she has to work this hard to stifle a moan. She’s gripping the edges of her pillow as Amy explores her insides, letting out a tight whimper when she hits this one place in particular, but then the fingers are gone and she’s once again ready to deliver that suckerpunch.

“Keep _g_ —” she’s about to snap, but the rest of the sentence disappears when Amy pulls off her shorts and underwear completely, and then _she’s_ between Lauren’s legs, and Amy’s mouth is much, much lower than it was last time. Her jaw hangs open as a hot tongue licks its way up and down before pushing its way inside, and wow, _fuck_ Tommy for never going down on her.

Sparks are building at the bottom of her stomach, tighter and bigger and unbearable anticipation until there it is, a whole lot of everything jolting through her core, and when she opens her eyes she finds Amy looking right back at her, lips wet and hair a disheveled mess, breathing almost as hard as Lauren is.

“How,” Lauren pants, “How can you know how to do _that_ , and still have such low self-esteem?”

Amy doesn’t reply, just slowly makes her way back up Lauren’s body and kisses her more carefully than she ever has, then rests her forehead against Lauren’s and lets out a deep breath.

Lauren tilts her head up for one more kiss. “Roll over,” she instructs, and a moment later their positions are reversed; she wastes no time before slipping her hand into Amy’s boxers, her breath catching in her throat when she feels the wetness that’s waiting for her. She freezes, because what the hell is she even doing, but Amy cups her cheek so Lauren will meet her eyes.

“You don’t have to,” she says softly. “If you’re not comfortable, don’t worry about it.”

Lauren leans in so her mouth is right next to Amy’s ear. “Shut the fuck up, Raudenfeld,” she whispers, then finds Amy’s entrance, and then all she knows is tight, wet heat. Amy arches into her immediately, the tendons in her neck taut as she tilts her head back, and when Lauren uses her thigh to push her hand even deeper, she earns her first high-pitched sigh.

She does it again and again and soon they have an actual rhythm going, and she doesn’t know how she’s survived so long in life without seeing this particular expression on Amy’s face. It’s sort of amazing, watching Amy’s jaw slacken as Lauren’s fingers curl against her walls, feeling everything get tighter and tighter as she gets closer to the edge, and when she finally presses her thumb into Amy’s bundle of nerves, Amy absolutely unravels.

Lauren takes her time dotting lazy kisses along her neck as Amy catches her breath, and once she pulls her hand out of Amy’s shorts and wipes it off on the sheets, she finds Amy’s and laces their fingers together.

“Shit,” Amy pants, then blows a few strands of hair out of her face.

“If you feel the need to clarify that as the good kind or the bad kind again,” Lauren murmurs into her throat, “I swear to God.”

Amy shakes her head as she brushes the side of her thumb back and forth along Lauren’s bare shoulder blade. “Nope. I’m all set.”

Lauren lets out a sleepy sigh and tucks her head into the crook of Amy’s neck, then glares at Amy’s chin when she hears a phone vibrate. She feels Amy lean over to glance at the screen before her chest vibrates with laughter, and now she’s curious. “What’s so funny?”

“I mean, it’s not really. It’s a text from Karma asking if we can talk this weekend, just the two of us.”

“Yeah,” Lauren mutters, “because the third time’s the charm.”

“Maybe I’ll invite her over here so you can be our unbiased third-party mediator.”

Lauren snorts. “Like I’d volunteer as tribute for that bullshit.” The phone vibrates again and she rolls her eyes. “Jesus Christ, is she that impatient of a texter?”

“Oh my god,” is all Amy says.

“What, is she trying to persuade you with nudes or something?”

“Or something,” Amy replies, her voice sounding oddly dazed. “It’s Shane. He wants me to tell you that you’re officially the new favorite to win Homecoming Queen in the spring.”

Lauren blinks a few times, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Interesting,” she replies, even though it’s really not, because she’s in bed with a ninety-five-percent naked Amy Raudenfeld, and that last five percent is starting to bother her a lot.

She turns Amy’s head to face her and kisses her deeply, burying one hand in Amy’s hair and using the other to take the phone from Amy and put it back on the nightstand. “This needs to come off,” she says as she pulls Amy’s bra straps down her shoulders, and with a bit of teamwork they manage to fling it over the side of the bed; Lauren’s joins it soon after, and then it’s all skin and lips and hot breath, and the distant sound of a phone vibrating on the bedside table.

She doesn’t mean to reach over and shove it to the floor with the rest of their clothes.

(Yeah, she does.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last author's note: I totally forgot to mention that during the scene a few chapters ago where Lauren kicks Tommy in the balls, she walks away in slow-motion as the chorus to "Come With Me Now" by KONGOS plays in the background. Very important.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING. PROTECT LAUREN COOPER AT ALL COSTS. AMEN.


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